


Defense Mechanisms [ON HIATUS]

by Panta



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Crying, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panic Attacks, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Trauma, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, The Author Regrets Everything, Underage Rape/Non-con, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-03-11 04:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13516431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panta/pseuds/Panta
Summary: Kokichi Ouma did not like physical contact.The instant Kaito Momota gripped Ouma’s wrist, he knew he’d found the little liar’s kryptonite. The faintest glimmer of fear in those violet eyes, the slightest tensing of his thin shoulders, the clenched jaw and piercing glare that warned him ‘let go’. But since when was Kaito ever willing to back down?(Or: Kaito finds a pretty effective way to shut Kokichi up, but it isn't exactly humane.)





	1. Blood, Sweat, and Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of rape/non-consensual sex, violence, and self-harm/suicidal tendencies.
> 
> I am so sorry.

_“Nothing ever stops all these thoughts and the pain attached to them;_   
_Sometimes I wonder why this is happenin'._   
_It's like nothing I can do would distract me when,_ _  
I think of how I shot myself in the back again.” _

* * *

 

Killing Game Day 8 - 9:04pm 

“Nishishi~! Momo-chan’s sooo stupid!”

Ouma had spent his day thus far pestering Momota to no end. The astronaut’s temper was terrible enough without the supreme leader grating on his nerves, so he’d taken the liberty of inviting the smaller student to his room for negotiations; to establish a peace treaty, if you will.

“I am not! And stop calling me that!”

Evidently, progress was not being made in their relationship. That being said, neither of the two most stubborn people in the Academy would ever consider throwing in the towel.

“Kai-chan, then!”

Throwing shade and punches, however, was another story entirely.

“Why you-!” Momota raised his fist angrily. “You better shut the hell up or else!”

“Or else what?” Ouma taunted. “Is idiot-chan gonna rough me up?” A dramatic gasp, “is that why you brought me to your dorm room? Or maybe you're gonna-” he was interrupted when Momota swung at him, but managed to quickly step out of the way. “Gosh Kai-chan, you're just _super_ predictable!”

What Ouma didn't predict, however, was for Momota to grip him by the shoulders and slam him against the wall with a shout of “SHUT _UP!_ ”

Snapping out of a momentary stupor, Ouma sneered. “ _Make me_.”

Famous last words.

Momota took both of Ouma’s wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head, an action that made the smaller boy _very_ uncomfortable. He squirmed as Momota moved closer, trapping Ouma with his body. Grabbing the supreme leader’s chin to tilt his gaze upwards, the astronaut growled menacingly, “shut the fuck up and get on your goddamn knees.”

Ouma put all of his concentration into what came out as strangled laughter and a nervous smile. “S-Silly Kai-chan, supreme leaders don’t take orders!” The small boy’s life flashed before his eyes as Momota drew a thin knife from his pocket, the tip just centimeters from the flesh of his throat. “Ah...checkmate, then.” Attempting to spare what shreds of dignity he still had, Ouma slowly dropped to his knees, figuring Momota just wanted him to bow or something. _Worse things could happen_ , he figured, _like having to_ -

The astronaut then reached down to unzip his fly.

 _Oh, fuck_.

“Suck it,” Momota ordered, tapping the tip of his cock against the leader’s lips. “Make that stupid mouth of yours useful for once.”

Fearful of the not-so-subtle threat against his life, Ouma hesitantly parted his lips, cringing as Momota’s dick slid between them. As luck would have it, the astronaut was definitely _not_ small. Tentatively, he ran his tongue over the tip, shuddering at the awful taste. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he had no idea what he was doing. It’s not as though supreme leaders make a habit of sucking dick, after all.

Regardless of Ouma’s feelings on the matter, however justified they were, Momota was as impatient as ever. Taking a fistful of soft purple locks, he jerked his hips forward, shoving his length down Ouma’s throat. As the leader gagged, tears welling up in his wide eyes, Momota pulled back just enough to let him breathe. He smirked, tightening his grip on Ouma’s hair, and tilted the small boy’s head back. “You don’t mind if I borrow this, do you?”

Ouma’s eyes held a gleam that said that yes, he most certainly did mind, but Momota ignored this- or rather, didn’t care- in favor of relentlessly fucking the small boy’s mouth.

Simultaneously fighting against his gag reflex and his tear ducts, Ouma could hardly even process what was happening. Between Momota’s grunts of pleasure and the increasingly sharp tugs on his hair, the supreme leader really just wanted it to end.

Well, as they say, be careful what you wish for.

To say that Momota’s cum tasted awful would've been the understatement of the year. To say that Ouma disliked having it run down his throat would've been the understatement of the fucking century.

“I'll give you a minute before we move on.”

Momota then released his hair and took a step back, chuckling in sadistic amusement as Ouma fell to his hands and knees, retching violently. The boy’s stomach heaved and his entire form shook, desperate to expel such an unwanted intrusion. A multitude of possible questions and clever retorts raced through his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to choke out a single word. He was exhausted, but from the looks of things, Momota was as energized as ever.

Not that it would take much energy to sling someone of his stature onto a bed just by grabbing onto one of his (unhealthily thin) arms, but still.

Normally, Ouma was plenty quick on his feet, and would've easy leapt off the bed, dodged past Momota, and ran as far away as possible. That being said, this was not a normal situation, and Ouma was in enough of a daze that he may as well have allowed the astronaut to climb on top of him. For the second time, Ouma found his hands pinned above his head. Unlike earlier, however, a faint _click_ signified that his hands had been cuffed around one of the bedposts.

His victim now incapable of fighting back, Momota reached for the dictator’s scarf, sharply yanking it off his neck. He didn't hesitate to then stuff it into Ouma’s mouth and tie it behind his head, effectively gagging the pale boy.

Said boy was not a fan of this treatment, but who said Momota gave a damn?

Harsh reality began to sink in as the astronaut tugged off his pants, then chuckled. “Dude, what the fuck is up with those boxers?” He removed those too, and Ouma’s face flushed with heat. He was a _supreme leader_ for God’s sake; this was _humiliating!_

It took a minute for Momota to undo all the intricate buttons and clasps on his almost-a-straitjacket, having to deal with his kicking all the while, and Ouma couldn't help but chalk that up as a small victory.

His fragile, bony body was bare for the world to see, so he'd take what he could get.

Momota’s eyes raked down Ouma’s pale chest, sending a shiver through the small boy’s form. He shook his head in protest as the astronaut forced his thighs apart, pulling at the restraints on his wrists. He whimpered, eyes wide with terror.

Momota clearly had no intention of prepping him in any way.

“Heh, fear looks good on you, Ouma.” Momota smirked, lining up their hips. “All that talk of being an evil leader yet here you are, completely at my mercy.”

He thrust forward.

“Now, _take it_.”

No gag would have been able to entirely muffle Kokichi Ouma’s screams as Momota pushed himself deeper and deeper into the small boy. Make no mistake, the dictator most certainly could handle pain (as expected from someone who continues to scheme after being shot through the spine with a poisoned arrow), but this violation _hurt_.

Momota’s hands held his legs in place, spreading him wide open. It made Ouma painfully aware of how small and helpless this body of his was. The taller boy groaned, unaffected by the shorter’s cries. “Damn you're tight. Are you a virgin?” His smirk grew. “Sorry, let me rephrase that. _Were_ you a virgin, Kokichi?”

The question hit him like a slap to the face; Momota had stolen something priceless from him, and he would never be able to take it back. For the first time since founding DICE, Kokichi Ouma had no control over his situation. He was being split in half, torn apart from the inside out. His insides were on _fire_. What little resolve he'd been desperately grasping shattered, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

Seeing the supreme leader in tears was an uncommon sight, so Momota egged him on. “I know you can’t really scream right now, but if you could, you know nobody would care, right? Not a single person in this school gives a shit about you, not even your ‘beloved Saihara-chan.’” Momota laughed as Ouma’s shoulders shook with muffled sobs, the painful truths- he believed them after all-  slicing his heart into pieces. “Now let’s say you go and tell someone,” a particularly rough thrust, “do you honestly think they’ll believe you? Nobody in their right mind would take _anything_ you say at face value. So I’ll keep fucking you like the pathetic little bitch you are, and you can’t do a damn thing about it!”

The pain, though still strong, had lost its edge as time went on. It was less like being stabbed with a burning dagger and more like that dull ache when your stamina is at its limit but you still keep running and everything is starting to feel numb and your vision is spotty from exhaustion, blurry from tears, and your chest hurts and you can't breathe and-

And the man raping you just told you he's going to cum, with no intention of pulling out.

At some point while he was being pounded into the mattress, Ouma’s struggling had loosened the tie on his scarf, the makeshift gag falling onto the sheets. His sobs were audible now as he begged “please, n-not that. A-Anything but that.” Momota only grinned, mocking the small boy.

“What, you don't want me to cum inside?” His grin fell, a deadly stare piercing into Ouma’s soul. “This is your fault, _Kokichi_. You asked for this. Now you're gonna finish what you started.” The astronaut’s grip on the other’s waist grew extensively rougher, leaving fingerprint bruises on the evil leader’s pale skin.

Ouma pulled against the handcuffs once more, blood oozing from his wrists as he tried desperately to get away. For all his resistance, however, he had begun to believe his tormentor’s words. _Nobody will care, even if I scream. Because I...deserve this. I deserve this pain. I deserve…_

All thoughts came to a screeching halt as Momota gave one final thrust, flooding his insides with a nauseating warmth. His mind and visage were both utterly blank as the astronaut stood, clothed only himself, removed the handcuffs, and left the room.

Ouma curled into a tight ball, shivering, as the substance dripped down his thighs and stained his sheets. He couldn't move, couldn't even cry. His broken spirit shut down completely, sending him into a fitful, restless sleep.

 _I deserve to be used_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, why do I do this...  
> I hope you...enjoyed this? Were interested by it? Idk.  
> Once I catch this up to where it is on FFN, updates will be around every 10 days or so. I'm aiming for the 6th, 16th, and 26th of every month.
> 
> FFN: PantaPanta  
> Kik: 6Mir6Kat6


	2. Milk and Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma paints his mask back on, and Saihara starts to wonder why it cracked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of rape/non-consensual sex, violence, and self-harm/suicidal tendencies.
> 
> I am so sorry.

_ “Everyone started out a little insane _

_ But we learn pretty quick how to fake it for the game. _

_ But some of you never learned to drop the act, _

_ So under that skin of yours: a heart attack.” _

* * *

 

Killing Game Day 9 - 8:32am 

The instant Ouma awoke, all he could register was the pain. Blinding, searing agony that enveloped the lower half of his body. He leapt out of bed in pained confusion, but one glance down at his bare, bruised form brought everything rushing back.

Immediately he sprinted- by which I mean stumbled whilst crying piteously- into his bathroom, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet. Minutes felt like hours as his stomach’s contents were expelled from his body, the boy continuing to heave long after nothing was left. He was covered in a cold sweat, his stomach joined the list of things causing him pain, and his face was dripping with tears, snot, and drool.

In summary, he was broken.

Ouma rose to unsteady feet and turned on his shower, stepping beneath the water without waiting for it to warm. When the temperature did rise, however, the heat made him nauseous, so he quickly turned the setting as cold as it would go. He collapsed in a heap within the icy-cold torrent, shuddering and sobbing pathetically, scrubbing his skin until it was red and sore in a desperate attempt to rid his body of Momota. His thoughts were disjointed, running a mile a minute yet never really moving.

_How? How could I have been so weak? What kind of leader goes and gets a dick shoved up his ass? Pathetic. DICE is gonna need a new leader cause hell if I deserve that title anymore. God I wish that was just a nightmare. It won't be easy to laugh this one off. Fuck, everything hurts._

Fingers numb from the freezing water, the dictator reached up and yanked on his aubergine locks, pulling several strands out in the process. The aching in his scalp and burning in his skin provided a momentary distraction from the sting of emotion.

Slowly he stood, shaking like a leaf in the wind, and turned off the shower. The towel he dried off with and the clothes he then put on felt like knives against his tender skin, but no amount of pain could compare to his inner turmoil. The Ultimate Supreme Leader struggled not to burst into tears as he tied his scarf with fumbling fingers.

He’d have to bury these emotions deep in his soul, keeping the indifferent mask on.

Just like always.

...

_Wait, how did I get back to my room?_

* * *

 9:17am

By the time Ouma entered the dining room, he had become accustomed to being set on fire with every step. He figured out how to balance his weight and how much he could use the wall as support to both relieve the pain but also keep the other students from noticing his change in behavior. Those students, astronaut included, acknowledged him with little more than a sparing glance as he trotted over to his seat at the end of the table. The barely visible wince he made when sitting down went unnoticed by all save Toujou.

“Ouma-san,” she began, “what would you like for breakfast? At Chabashira-san’s request, I have already prepared-” she was cut off by a loud groan from Ouma.

“No thanks, Toujou-chan. Whatever gross food you made is probably poisoned anyway, so I’ll just-”

Momota snorted, “shut the fuck up, Ouma.”

The dictator rolled his eyes to hide the way his expression faltered. “ _You_ shut up, idiot-chan! I’ll just have tea today, mom.”

Toujou seemed ready to lecture him on nutrition, or his nickname choices, or perhaps the fact that tea is as easy to poison as food is, but she simply nodded and turned to walk towards the kitchen. “Very well.”

Ignoring the agitated whispers of Momota to Harukawa, Ouma propped his elbow up on the table and rested his head on his palm, looking incredibly bored. He drummed his fingers against the table in an effort to calm the nervous energy brought on from just being _around_ Momota. He just wanted to go back to his room, lock the door, and lay in bed until he could no longer see or hear or smell or taste or _feel_ Kaito _fucking_ Momota.

He drank his tea without milk, repressing the urge to gag at how _warm_ it was. It tasted different, too. Toujou knew his favorite tea, he pondered, so why did she…?

The label read “ _pain-relieving_.”

He finished, thanked Toujou with a silent nod, and slipped out of the room, one pair of lilac-hued eyes burning holes in his back. Every step he took was calculated to exude confidence, strutting along like he owned the place. He laced his hands behind his head and plastered a smile onto his face, looking for all the world like he was in complete control. He dug his nails into his scalp to keep from expressing his pain in any way, setting his course to the dormitories.

* * *

 10:02am

Shuichi Saihara was nothing if not observant, and his current target was none other than one Kokichi Ouma. For all his prowess as the Ultimate Detective, Saihara knew next to nothing about the small boy. He was an enigma wrapped in a mystery covered in a puzzle soaked in lies, multiplied by 666 times the complexity.

He was confusing, and frustrating, and absolutely _fascinating_.

Observation #1: Ouma was somewhat quiet today, not making one of his typically grand entrances into the dining hall. His movements were cautious and stiff, and he kept his gaze directly on his tea as he drank it.

Observation #2: Ouma did not put milk in his tea today, which was odd considering his idea of tea _always_ involved more milk and sugar than actual tea. It was one of the only consistent things about him.

Observation #3: Ouma avoided looking in Kaito’s direction, and seemed uncomfortable when the astronaut told him to shut up. He spoke even less after that.

Observation #4: Ouma’s wrist(s?) had angry red scars circling them, scabbed over and just barely visible when he propped up his elbow, sleeve slipping down ever so slightly. They reminded Saihara of wounds produced by… handcuffs? Ouma had claimed to be a criminal, but these wounds looked recent, _very_ recent.

Observation #5: Ouma was incredible at feigning confidence.


	3. Submissive, Sensitive, and Somewhat Suspicious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma struggles against more than just pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of rape/non-consensual sex, violence, and self-harm/suicidal tendencies.
> 
> I am so sorry.

_ “Tension is building inside steadily _ __  
_ (Everyone feels so far away from me) _ __  
_ Heavy thoughts forcing their way out of me _ _  
_ __ (Trying not to break but I'm so tired of this deceit)”

* * *

Killing Game Day 10 - 11:42am 

His hands were tied, hanging limply above his head, but that was the least of his worries.

There were egg vibrators taped to both of his nipples, buzzing against the sensitive nubs relentlessly. One calloused hand was wrapped around his already leaking cock, stroking it much too quickly for the small boy to handle; the other hand had three fingers pistoning in and out of his hole, a constant assault against his prostate. He was panting out moans, shaking from the overwhelming stimulation. Covered in sweat, back arched like a bow, moaning like a whore in a porno…

Kokichi Ouma had never felt like such a mess. In some respects, this was _worse_ than having Momota’s dick tear him apart. The pleasure tore through him in waves, but all he could think was _what’s the catch?_ There was no way, after all, that Momota was just going to get him off and then leave.

His thoughts dissolved into nothingness when Momota cranked up the vibrators to their highest setting, causing Ouma to cry out in unbridled pleasure. His body and mind were fighting a war; he wanted it, he didn’t want it, oh _god_ he wanted it. Giving in to Kaito goddamn Momota was the last thing he wanted to do, but he was so _close_ , eyes half-lidded and hips pushing back against Momota’s fingers, desperately searching for just a little more friction to-

It stopped.

Both hands pulled away, leaving him empty and painfully hard as the vibrators continued to buzz away on his chest. Two of the three sources of stimulation gone, he whimpered, falling down from the high he’d been so close to reaching. He was shivering, rolling his hips, trying in vain to reach that point again.

Momota laughed, “look at you, Kokichi! You really do like our time together, don’t you, you little whore?” Ouma had the energy to do little more than whine in response. “Like a bitch in heat, just _begging_ to be fucked.

“You know,” the astronaut smirked, “I'll finish you off if you really beg for it.”

Ouma mustered up the fiercest glare he could, clenched his jaw, and spat out “I'd rather die.”

Momota chuckled and resumed his ministrations at full force, grinning as Ouma threw his head back and _screamed_ . “I _will_ break you, Kokichi.”

And he did.

Up, down, up, down, again and again and _again_ he was brought to his climax only to be denied release. The fourth time, drool began to drip down his chin. The ninth time, tears rolled over his cheeks; he only noticed when he tasted the saltiness on his cracked lips. Two more cycles and the tears were joined by heart-wrenching sobs, but Momota didn't even pause in his effort.

A strange clicking noise, then: “All you have to do is beg, Kokichi.”

Then, the twelfth time he felt that knot coiling in his belly, he begged. “I..ah~! I give! Please- ngh- Momota-kun! I c-can't take it! Let me cum! Please let me- hah~- cum! Please, please, please.. please...” His ego was taking a tremendous blow and Momota knew it.

Finally able to release, Ouma screamed so hard his voice broke, thrashing violently to find some sort of purchase as he drowned in white-hot pleasure. Only small whimpers and sobs escaped him as the astronaut undid his restraints. He tore off the vibrators, unceremoniously collapsing onto his bed, naked and panting and splattered with his own drying seed.

He grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest, burying his red face in it like Momota wasn't still sitting a few feet away. He had no idea how long that torture had gone on, but he was utterly exhausted. His limbs were numb, still tingling with the remnants of his orgasm. _How_ … he thought, _how could this happen? How could I let Momota do this to me? Supreme leaders should never beg for anything! But he-_

Ouma’s rumination was interrupted by the faintest of touches against the nape of his neck, slowly trailing down his back. A shiver shot through his spine, entire body tense as the feather-light strokes moved lower, lower, and then-

_Smack!_

The small boy yelped in both surprise and pain as Momota’s palm slammed against his ass, then beginning to knead the flesh as though to soothe it. His muscles twitched; he was still very sensitive, after all. Not to mention the green and purple bruises remaining from their first session.

 _Smack!_ His body jolted, his grip around the pillow growing even tighter. He was shaking, shoulders jerking with poorly suppressed sobs.

Laughter. “What happened to the ‘evil supreme leader’ act, Kokichi? Cat got your tongue?” He responded with little more than a sob, his thin form shuddering. Momota pinched the skin on his side, then the back of his neck. He jerked away from both. “You know, I bet everyone would like you much better like this.” He then reached around to pinch Ouma’s nipple, invading the fragile bubble of protection the pillow provided. The boy spasmed and whimpered, violet eyes shut tight as Momota rolled him onto his back and pinned him against the mattress.

“Such a submissive little slut, and sensitive too.” That weird clicking noise sounded again. “I wonder what they'd all say if they saw you like this? I bet they'd laugh; you're pathetic.”

His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. “They...they wouldn't…”

“Wouldn't care? That's absolutely right.”

“S-Saihara-chan…”

“Doesn't give a shit about you. And he _never, ever will._ ”

The astronaut pushed his legs apart with a snicker.

* * *

 3:25pm

“Hey Kaito, does, uh...does Ouma-kun seem a bit off to you?”

“Whataya mean, bro?”

“He's...quiet. He doesn't say anything unless he's directly spoken to; it's very unusual.”

“I guess that's a bit freaky, but good riddance, I say! Why do you care anyway? He’s done nothing but cause trouble up ‘til now.”

“That is true, but…”

“But?”

“N-Nevermind. It's nothing. You're right.”

* * *

 10:47pm

 _Saihara-chan, I know I'm the least trustworthy person you've ever met, but I'm telling the truth when I say Momota-chan raped me for the second time today_ . Ouma sighed from where he stood in front of Saihara’s door, unable to bring himself to knock. _Yeah, I’m sure that'll go over well. He'd_ totally _believe me. Not._

He raised a hand, resigning himself to just spending an hour or so pestering Saihara, when someone else’s covered his mouth. His eyes shot wide open and he immediately began to thrash about, fighting against the person whose arm pinned his to his sides.

“Be still, Kokichi.” He froze; the voice was Momota’s. “You should know by now that it hurts more when you struggle.” The taller man grinded against him, his hand muffling the hitch in Ouma’s breath. He removed his arm from around the ruler’s abdomen, instead moving his legs to secure Ouma’s in place. “For your sake, I hope you weren't planning on telling Shuichi anything. After all,” several photographs were dangled in front of his face, “I don't think you'd want anyone to see these, would you?”

It was a surreal experience, seeing those images printed and shown to him. Him deep in the throes of pleasure, face flushed red; him with tears staining his cheeks, begging for release; him sprawled out beneath Momota, embarrassment and fear evident in his expression. They were physical proof of how he'd been humiliated, a constant reminder of how his reputation would be dragged through the dirt should he ever confide in someone. _Blackmail_ , he cursed, _how underhanded of you, Kai-chan._

“Go back to your room, Kokichi. Go to sleep, you look terrible.” Having pocketed the photos, his hand slipped beneath the shorter boy’s shirt, lightly thumbing one of his nipples. He growled, “I don't think you want to know what I'll do if you even consider coming back out here.”

The Ultimate Supreme Leader shuddered, stumbled forward, and did as he was told.


	4. Hungry and Helpless, Here in Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma tries, and fails, to escape his own personal hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may notice, I have added days and times into this chapter and the previous ones. Do take note that part of this chapter is NOT in chronological order.
> 
> Warnings: Rape/non-con, physical and verbal abuse, emotional manipulation and blackmail, depressive themes, anxiety, panic attacks, self-harm.

_“Pointing my fingers, the problems still linger;_

_They keep getting bigger and I hold the trigger._

_Playing with fire, I live like a liar;_

_Please somebody make a move.”_

* * *

Killing Game Day 11 - 8:56am 

Nearly an hour had passed since the morning announcement, and Ouma had yet to even stand up, opting instead to cocoon himself in blankets like a caterpillar ready to metamorphosize. He was ready to change, to grow into something people would adore, to melt into an unrecognizable mush and transform into something truly beautiful. But he was not a caterpillar, and he would never become a butterfly.

 _This world has no need for something so ugly,_ he thought to himself. _Something ugly, inhuman, unlovable and unwanted. A waste of air...a waste of space._ He pulled the blanket up over his head and clutched it in his fists, ducking his head and screaming into the fabric. The walls were soundproof- he’d spent enough time with Momota to know that much- so nobody would hear his cries. Though, even if they did, he had a feeling none of them would care enough to check on him anyway.

_“S-Saihara-chan…”_

_“Doesn't give a shit about you. And he never, ever will.”_

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! I have plans to attend to; I can't be laying around moping like this!_ Despite his thoughts screaming at him from the inside of his skull, the supreme leader couldn’t bring himself to move even an inch. He wrapped his arms around himself, clutching his forearms tightly. His nails dug crescent moons into flesh already streaked with thin white lines. He jerked his hands harshly up and down, tearing apart the fragile skin. His breath caught in a hiccup, but no tears formed. He’d shed more tears these past few days than in all of his life previous to the Killing Game.

_Killing game...Amami-niichan was killed by Akamatsu-chan...Akamatsu-chan was idiotically optimistic...like Momota-kun...Momota…_

Suddenly his thoughts were drowned in rattling handcuffs and low grunts and vibrators buzzing. Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing endlessly...like bees...like Gonta’s insect party.

_“I know you can’t really scream right now, but if you could, you know nobody would care, right? Not a single person in this school gives a shit about you, not even your ‘beloved Saihara-chan.’”_

Momota was right. Everything he said was true, and he drove those points in _hard_ . Nothing in his logic-oriented mind could deny the astronaut’s claims. He clutched his head, covering his ears and digging his nails into his scalp, trying desperately to wish the words away. It just kept _echoing_.

_“You know nobody would care, right?”_

“S-Stop it…”

_“You know nobody would care, right?”_

He fell silent, sobbing.

**_“You know nobody would care, right?”_ **

**_I know._ **

* * *

 1:17pm

When Ouma didn't show up for breakfast, Saihara felt a pang of worry. The small leader was always one of the first people awake in the morning, and when a room lacked his energy, it was _very_ obvious. Momota had reassured him that the boy was probably hoarding junk food, which admittedly was a rather plausible theory. That being said, when Ouma hadn't attended lunch either, Saihara’s concern increased greatly.

But then, after arriving late, Momota asked a question that gave him pause.

_Why?_

Why _did_ he care so much about the supreme leader? The boy had been nothing but trouble, an annoyance, and teased him almost as much as he did Kiibo. He was obnoxious, and arrogant, and insensitive, and rude, and a liar, and mysterious, and intelligent, and a puzzle, and...and Saihara _loved_ puzzles.

Was that it? Did he spend time with Ouma just to figure him out? To treat him like a game to be played, a mystery to be solved? He shook his head. _Ouma treats life like a game of chess; we are nothing but his pawns. I...am nothing but a pawn_ . Momota was wrong, he decided. He _didn't_ care.

Toujou found Ouma’s scarf on the kitchen floor.

His worry grew.

* * *

 11:53am

Lunch would begin in around half an hour, and for Ouma it was now or never. He was no stranger to hunger, but he knew that around this time of day Momota would be taking a nap. If he wanted to eat at all today without being subjected to another hour of torture, he'd have to be in and out of the kitchen before anyone even had the chance to notice him.

And thus explains why Ouma was sprinting down the path from the dorms to the dining hall, thanking goddamn _Atua_ for his natural agility. Not even trying to be subtle, he burst through the doors, immediately strutting through the empty dining hall and entering the kitchen. It had all the standard appliances such as a stove and microwave, a multitude of cabinets and drawers, a pantry, and a central island to supplement the counters circulating the room. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, he moved towards the fridge-

And found himself pinned against the wall.

“Knew you'd have to eat at some point.”

Two pairs of purple eyes met, one with barely masked surprise and the other with something akin to malice. A black and white scarf fell to the tile floor, and immediately Momota was on him. Lips and teeth attacked his neck, biting and sucking, sending jolts of electricity down his spine. He raised his hands to the astronaut’s chest, pushing weakly. “G-Get off me, you stupid-”

_Wham!_

“Shut the _fuck_ up and take this quietly. I don't think you want to be attracting any attention.”

His head was turned to the side, eyes shut tight and blood rushing to his cheek. _That's gonna leave a mark._ Momota grabbed him by the shoulders, turning him around so his chest was flush against the drywall. Ouma’s hands were pinned on either side of his head. He felt something pressing against his backside, whimpering as Momota rocked his hips, repeatedly grinding him into the wall. “N-No..please...s-stop it…” he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. His small form was deplorably helpless against the years of physical training the other had completed. _Pathetic. Weak. Pathetically weak._

“Sorry Kokichi, begging ain't an option this time.” The taller boy was breathing down his neck, causing him to shudder. His entire body was tense, too afraid to move even just a bit. Momota kept rubbing against him, irritating the bruises on his already sore ass. “Such a good little whore, you are.” The biting at his neck resumed. “ _My_ whore.”

“I-I’m not- ah!” The hands had moved from his wrists to his hips, arms falling limply at his sides. With this new leverage, Momota was able to grind _hard_ against him. “..ngh...s-stop…” The astronaut bit down again, so the supreme leader purposely threw his head back, painfully striking their skulls together. In the split second that Momota stumbled back, Ouma _ran_. He sprinted out of the dining hall, down the dirt path, passing a confused Shirogane along the way.

Upon reaching the door to his room, he frantically began patting his clothing, searching for the key. _Where is it?!_

There were footsteps behind him, and the jingling of metal. _Tell me he didn't..._

“To think I was considering being gentler with you this time. You're gonna get it for pulling that shit, Kokichi.”

He panicked, desperately wiggling the door handle. Cool composure gone, he felt himself shaking, palms sweating. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breath coming out in quick pants. _No no no no_ **_no!_ ** He slammed his fist on the door, once, twice, slumping against it. _Please, not again…_ Momota towered over him.

His mind went blank as the door opened and he was pushed inside. The astronaut ordered him to strip, and he did, tears rolling down his cheeks. His back hit the bed, the taller boy looming over him, and he was limp, pliant in those hands. _Just get it over with...ruin me._

He never did get to eat lunch, but he was full all the same.

* * *

 6:03pm

 _Knock knock knock_.

“Ouma-kun?”

_Ding-dong, ding-dong._

“I know you're in there, Ouma-kun. Are you feeling well? I've brought dinner for you.”

The door handle rattled. A futile effort, really; his door was _always_ locked.

“Toujou-san is worried about you. You didn't eat breakfast or lunch, and she hasn't noticed anything missing from the fridge or pantry.”

_Typical mom-chan. Being that selfless will get you killed one day._

“It is not wise to neglect your health, Ouma-kun. You are severely underweight as is, and you will only lose what muscle you have if you continue this way.” He kept talking, but Ouma was no longer listening.

 _So I'm weak, huh...what right does that robot have to-..to tell me...the truth…? I_ am _weak. All Momota did to get me on my knees was touch my wrists and hold a knife. He didn't even do anything! But no, I was just so ready to give myself to him, to be used as his personal little fucktoy, I didn't even fight back. I_ let _him use me. I let him touch me, fuck me, hurt me. This is my fault; I have no one to blame but me. I am pathetic. I am worthless. I am weak._

Disregarding the incessant knocking at his door, Ouma rolled out of bed. His legs shook when he stood up, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. He stumbled over to where he had discarded his pants, extracting a switchblade from a hidden pocket in one of the legs. It felt familiar in his hand.

_Waste of air, waste of space._

* * *

 8:22pm

Blood coated his arms and splattered his face, pooling on the floor in a garish display of weakness. _Weak, weak, weak!_ The lines were all parallel, like little red train tracks. _Chugga chugga_ , he wheezed out a giggle as he carved another set. _Choo-choo_ , the giggles turned to laughter and the laughter turned to tears and _wow that's a lot of blood_.

He laughed at how the blood was red like Harukawa’s eyes, and warm like Momota’s hands. Momota’s hands, which roamed his body. Momota's hands, which pinned him down and muffled his screams and touched wherever they pleased. Momota's hands, which broke him the first time and absolutely shattered him the next, but would never pick up the pieces. Pain and pleasure and photographs and nothing he ever _wanted_.

“ _FUCK!_ ” Ouma threw his knife at the wall with a shout, watching as it streaked the plaster with scarlet and clattered to the floor. He buried his bloodied hands in his hair, clutching his head, crying, laughing. “Stop it! I can't take it anymore!” He pulled on his hair, bloodying the strands and squeezing his eyes shut. “Don't touch me!”

He scooted back until he was sitting against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest and hands pressed against his ears, shivering, sobbing. All he could feel, see, and hear was Momota.

_Knock knock._

“Ouma-kun, is everything alright? I thought I heard you yelling, but I wasn't sure.”

“S-Saihara-chan…” he whimpered, vision blurry. It was a pitiful, broken cry. “Please..help me…”

But the walls were soundproof, and nobody would ever help a filthy, disgusting _slut_ like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanna give a big thank you to all the wonderful comments I have received so far! I'm so glad you're enjoying this fic, and I can't wait to give you more!  
> Thanks a bunch to furiouscatlover on Discord for this chapter's art! <3
> 
> FFN: PantaPanta  
> Kik: 6Mir6Kat6


	5. Truth and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma and Saihara chat over breakfast, but neither are happy with the result.

_ “I am, what you never want to say, but I've never had a doubt _ __  
_ It's like no matter what I do I can't convince you for once just to hear me out _ __  
_ So I, let go watching you turn your back like you always do _ _  
_ __ You face away and pretend I'm not, but I'll be here 'cause you're all that I've got.”

* * *

??? 

Ouma shifted in his seat, cursing Momota for leaving him in a state of constant pain. Nine people stood before him, wearing clown masks and checkerboard scarves.

“Kokichi,” they spoke in eerie unison, “you failed us.”

The leader was confused. “Failed..?”

“You are supposed to be our strong, untouchable leader. Now look at you,” they scoffed, “some space-obsessed idiot’s plaything. Are you really that pathetic?”

He flinched at DICE’s words. “Come on guys, you know I..I wasn't…”

“You weren't _what_ , Kokichi? Willing? You can say that all you want but you didn’t exactly put up a fight against him.”

“B-But-”

“Where's our fearless leader, Kokichi?! Look us in the eyes and tell us he isn't being fucked up the ass like some thirsty _whore!”_

He watched through teary eyes as they threw his cape and hat at his feet, then lit a match and set them on fire. Flames erupted like a geyser, causing him to jump back with a shout. Nausea flooded his being as his followers burned the articles that marked him as their leader. Smoke filled the air.

Then they surrounded him, a dozen hands grabbing and tugging at his clothes, holding his body still as they stripped him of his dignity. He felt small, so small, only sobbing amidst the taunts and insults thrown his way. They were all getting close, too close, invading his space like he wasn't worth even a shred of their respect. The smoke saturated his lungs as his breaths quickened, coming out as harsh coughs. He was choking, unable to breathe, drowning in his own misery until-

Ouma shot up in bed, breathing heavily, a cold sweat running down his back. He shivered, pressing his palms to his eyes. “What...what the hell…” _I haven't had a nightmare like that since before DICE. But those were always about…_ he bit his lip, _let's not think about that._ “Momota-kun,” he let out a laugh so broken it sounded melodramatic, “to make me think that DICE would ever hurt me...you really did destroy me, didn't you?”

The dictator sighed and flopped back down on his bed, if for no reason other than to not be putting so much weight on his tailbone. His eyes traced the ceiling tiles. “Are you happy now? You brought the Ultimate Supreme Leader to his knees. You fucked the brains out of the only sensible person here.” He scowled, “you may have even ruined your only chance of beating the mastermind. I can hardly think straight. In this state…” he paused to glance at his whiteboard, “I'm useless.”

Inspecting the bandages lining his arms, which he barely remembered applying after waking up and cleaning up a rather large pool of blood, Ouma dragged himself out of bed and limped over to his closet. Ruefully, he noted that his scarves were all missing. He grit his teeth as he recalled it falling off in the kitchen the day before, but never being picked up. _Is Monokuma in league with that space idiot? Momota shouldn't have access to my- ...never mind. He stole my room key._ “First my dignity and now my scarves, huh? Tch, and they say _I’m_ cruel.”

_...was he in here before or after I cleaned up the blood?_

Ouma sighed, shrugged, and pulled another uniform from his closet, being mindful of his injuries as he slipped it on. At least his clothes were white, so the bandages on his wrists would blend in with his sleeves. That being said, he was regretting how intricate the design was. Managing a dozen buttons and clasps wasn’t easy when your hands were shaking from a combination of malnutrition and blood loss.

Kokichi Ouma stared into the mirror, and a victim stared back.

* * *

 

Killing Game Day 12 - 6:17am 

Dawn awoke in a gentle sunrise, painting the sky with tendrils of soft oranges and yellows. Saihara sat in the dining hall, admiring the way Ouma’s scarf shimmered in the glow. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the silky fabric seemed to have silver threads woven into the black and white pattern, reflecting the beautiful morning light. It appeared to be handmade; no wonder Ouma liked it so much. But if that was the case, how did it end up forgotten on the kitchen floor?

_Ouma-kun is highly intelligent and far more observant than the others think. I find it extremely hard to believe that he just didn’t notice it fell off. No, something was distracting him… but what?_ The detective sighed, laying the side of his head on the tabletop. _The only thing I’ve ever seen Ouma-kun run away from is questions about himself. Did someone confront him? Was he scared? Did-_

The double doors flew open, and in walked the man of the hour: Kokichi Ouma, sans checkerboard scarf. For a fleeting moment, he seemed exhausted- hair tousled, eyes baggy, face blank- but before Saihara could even blink, he was smiling wide, eyes sparkling. _How do you fake an eye sparkle? Ouma-kun, you could be the eighth wonder of the world._

“Gooooood morning, Saihara-chan~!” He wondered how such a small person could have so much energy this early in the morning. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, contemplating if maybe that tired expression had just been a figment of his sleep-deprived imagination. The supreme leader certainly _seemed_ fine.

“Ah, good morning, Ouma-kun. You’re up earlier than usual.”

Ouma pouted, “Saihara-chan, how would you even know when I get up? You wake up to Monokuma’s announcement, y’know.”

“Fair point.” Saihara conceded, before being struck with a realization. “Oh! Um...here’s your scarf, Ouma-kun. Toujou-san found it in the kitchen during lunch yesterday. I tried to return it, but I never saw you.” The cloth was immediately snatched out of his hands without even a thank you. The detective would have been offended, but this was Ouma and he knew the boy appreciated it, even if he’d never say.

When the self-proclaimed dictator brought the scarf to his neck, Saihara noticed something...odd. “Ouma-kun, why is there a bruise on your neck?” Ouma paused, pensive, and something red-hot and ugly flashed through his eyes before he turned swiftly on his heel and let out a giggle.

Strutting towards the kitchen, presumably to get food, he sing-songed, “well you see, my beloved, Momota-chan left it there when he raped me, obviously!”

Saihara jumped up to follow him, sputtering indignantly. “You shouldn’t joke about things like that! Momota-kun isn’t that kind of-”

“Yes, yes, I know. Idiot-chan is a hero and you’re his sidekick, right? You know him very well despite having met him not even a fortnight ago, and considering you follow him around like a lost puppy, he clearly must be an amazing person with no nefarious qualities whatsoever.” Ouma stuck four pieces of bread into the toaster, an outrageous amount for someone his size. “I, on the other hand, am a disgusting cretin who does nothing more than lie and cause trouble, right?”

“You know that isn’t how I-”

The shorter boy’s tone was empty, gaze cold and menacing. “Don’t lie to me, Saihara-chan. That is how _everyone_ sees me, and you’re almost as stupid as Momota-ku- _chan_ if you think you can convince me otherwise. That being said, you aren’t stupid. I personally think you’re the only one in this place that can even compare to me in terms of intelligence.” The toaster popped, and the kitchen was silent as Ouma transferred the toast to...two plates? He coated the two pieces on one plate with an absurd mixture of strawberry jam and powdered sugar, but only lightly buttered the others.

Saihara was a bit agitated, “if you think so much of me, what gives you the right to act so high and mighty? What’s the difference between you and me?”

“You’re too trusting, my beloved detective. You fell in love with Akamatsu-chan, and she set up a murder right in front of you.” He picked up the two plates and carried them into the dining room, setting them down where the two had previously sat and gesturing for Saihara to sit. Against his sense of self-preservation, the taller boy complied, hesitantly taking a bite of the toast.

“You allow yourself to be blinded by emotion, failing to view the situation objectively. I knew from the moment the investigation began that she was the culprit. It was like she didn’t even _try_ to hide it; no fun at all, really.”

“Hold on a moment.” Ouma bit into his toast and raised an eyebrow at the detective, who continued. “If you knew she was the culprit, why did you direct everyone’s suspicion towards _me?”_

The supreme leader chewed slowly, swallowed- did he just shiver?- and took a swig from a glass of chocolate milk Saihara never saw him pour. “Because, Shumai, I knew you wouldn’t defend yourself, thereby forcing her to either give up or lie. It kinda surprised me when she chose the latter, but I got a kick out of watching her flounder.”

“You _enjoyed_ watching her suffer?”

The smaller boy scowled, eyes darkening. “There you go again, assuming I’m the bad guy. What did you even know about Piano Freak, Saihara-chan? Jack shit, that’s what. Whether you like it or not, whether you _believe_ it or not, Akamatsu-chan killed somebody. She was a cold-blooded killer, stop denying it. I hate liars more than anything, and you, Mr. Detective, are lying to yourself. She may have claimed to have done it for all of us, but in the end, she played right into the mastermind’s hands. A pawn deluded enough to believe she could put a king in check.”

Saihara’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you _dare_ talk about her that way. She died so we could have a chance to escape. She gave everything for-”

“What about Amami-chan?”

The detective was taken aback, “huh?”

“You heard me. I get that Akamatsu-chan was willing to sacrifice herself because of the time limit; I respect that. But what gave her the right to take Amami-chan down with her? If she was so concerned about the time limit, she could have just as easily offed her _self.”_

He fired back, “well at least she tried to do _something!_ She cared about us, Ouma-kun! All you’ve ever done is mess with us, because you don’t give a damn about anyone except your _self!”_

For a moment, Ouma seemed almost surprised, but then he lowered his head slightly, bangs casting a shadow over his eyes. “...tch. So that’s how you feel, is it? That I’ve done nothing, that I don’t care…” Having finished his breakfast, he rose to his feet, glowering. “That’s bullshit, Shumai. I told you how much I hate liars.”

As the boy stalked towards the door, Saihara called out, “doesn’t that mean you hate yourself?”

“You’re the detective, Saihara-chan; you tell me.”

He left.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a bunch for reading! Finally we get some Oumasai interaction, amirite? Here's a fun fact: Ouma didn't lie once this entire chapter. Crazy, huh?  
> Thank you so much to the anonymous artist who drew Toastkichi! 10/10 nickname lmao
> 
> Also: This story is now 7777 words. That's lit af.


	6. Trials and Tribulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma makes some decisions, accepting Momota's repercussions for them, painful as they may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter today! 2300 words!  
> Hopefully that makes up for how late it is.

_“What do I have but negativity?_   
_'Cause I can't justify the way everyone is looking at me (nothing to lose)_   
_Nothing to gain, hollow and alone,_ _  
And the fault is my own, and the fault is my own."_

* * *

10:12am 

If Ouma thought the first three times were painful, well, this was complete and utter _agony._

He was currently in Momota’s lap, being practically impaled by the taller boy’s cock. Calloused hands kept a firm grip on his hips, holding him down so Momota could push in as deep as physically possible. Ouma was shaking, salty tears falling from red, puffy eyes, blood dripping over the astronaut’s thighs and onto the bedsheets. He was powerless, immobile even without his hands tied, and so, so scared. Scared because it burned his body and stung his pride; scared because he couldn’t fight back; scared because they were in a _killing game,_ and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to just _die._

Momota rolled his hips, releasing a predatory chuckle as the supreme leader gasped and choked back a whimper. “Come on now, Kokichi. You know how much I love to hear you scream.” A thrust upwards, and he received a sharp cry from the small ruler. “Good boy.” The astronaut then tightly grabbed one of his forearms, digging his nails into the layer of gauze wrapped around it. Ouma wriggled in his grasp, blood spreading over the bandages like a gruesome watercolor painting. “Didn't peg you as a cutter, Kokichi, but it makes sense considering how pathetic you are.”

Ouma bowed his head and closed his eyes tight, his body rigid. His entire existence _ached._ “P-Please...stop…” his breath hitched in a sob, “I c-can't...do this any-anymore.”

“It's amusing how you say that like it matters.” Momota laughed, Ouma shuddering in response. “You're very tense, Kokichi.” Several harsh hip jerks, each followed by a strained cry of pain. “As appealing as your tightness is, this would be easier for both of us if you'd just-”

The room’s monitor crackled to life with a familiar chime, Monokuma’s voice assaulting their eardrums. “A body has been discovered! Everyone, please gather in the gym!” Both victim and attacker froze, eyes wide, silent. The shorter boy felt a guilty wave of relief knowing that his torture would at least be postponed.

In a sort of instant karma for that thought- because who deserved karma except him?- Ouma found himself shoved off both Momota and the bed and onto the floor, landing harshly on his shoulder. He whined, curling into a tight ball as pain rocketed through various parts of his body.

“Tch.” Momota was clearly not about to wait for Ouma to stabilize, thus choosing to dig his heel into the pale boy’s side. “Get dressed, whore. We’re heading to the gym in three minutes; together, unless you don't want an alibi for these last few hours.

“We don't know when the murder happened, but better safe than sorry, right?”

* * *

 

10:21am 

Saihara’s heart was pounding, stomach a twisted knot, lungs straining for air he couldn't seem to get. He was choking on the blood-clouded waters of a terrible, terrible truth.

Hoshi was dead.

His flesh had been devoured by the piranhas, leaving little more than the skeleton of the Ultimate Tennis Pro.

_No. No, please. Not again. I don't want...to lose anybody else._ Saihara was startled out of his mind’s recesses when the gym doors burst open, Momota rushing in with Ouma close behind. The two shared a tense glance before the shorter boy’s gaze shifted to the water tank. Saihara swore he saw shock on his face, and for once it didn't feel like a lie.

But then a face-splitting grin twisted the boy’s expression, and he leaned forward excitedly. “Woahhhh! Was Hoshi-chan gobbled up by piranhas?!” Momota snorted and gave Ouma’s shoulder a shove, to which the dictator jumped away with a dramatic gasp.

The detective was surprised, “how-”

“Did I know the cause of death? The Monokuma File, duh!”

Their monochrome headmaster appeared then, along with his four children. “I haven't even given that out yet! Kids these days, geez.” Ouma’s apparent omniscience was forgotten as the students received the file, reading it with a mix of dread and determination. Very little information was provided, save for discovery location and body condition. That would pose a problem, but Saihara was confident.

The investigation began.

* * *

 

Trial 2 - 3:49pm 

“So let’s host an argument that's totally-not-boring-but-super-fun!”

Mask cemented in an open-mouthed smile, the supreme leader spread his arms wide, seizing control of the courtroom. Momota and Harukawa, to Ouma’s knowledge a rapist and a murderer, were the current suspects. He was 98% sure of the culprit’s identity, and it was, unfortunately, neither of the two. That being said, he was nothing if not an entertainer, and this whole Killing Game _oozed_ cliche TV drama.

Well, whether that last part was a fact or not, there was no doubt they had at least an audience. If they wanted to use him for entertainment, so be it. He'd make himself an audience favorite, and pull the rug out from beneath their feet as he did. His existence would become a direct challenge to the mastermind in and of itself.

The Kubs Pad held a near-tangible weight as he pinched it between the thumb and forefinger of each hand. “I'd be glad to offer the first topic!”

This Killing Game was just that: a _game,_ and he knew best of all that games were meant to be won. He'd played enough chess in his short and somewhat meaningless life to know that there was always a loophole if you knew where to look. Not only would he outsmart the mastermind, he'd beat them at their own stupid game. This trial gave him the opportunity to set up the board, and when it was over, he would make the first move.

It was risky, extremely so; he knew that. Not just because he would be drawing the attention of the mastermind, but also because this whole debate was an attack on _Momota,_ and as much as he hated to admit it, he could only see the astronaut as the bigger threat. The mastermind could not attack directly and Harukawa wouldn't chance a murder after he exposed her. Momota, however, had already shown that pissing him off had serious repercussions. Ouma found the smallest bit of solace in how predictable the astronaut was panning out to be.

Though he couldn't say he found solace in how _stupid_ the guy could be. “A...a _hunch?!_ Are you being serious? You do realize all our lives are on the line here, right? And you’re betting our lives on _just a hunch!?_ You can't actually be _that_ stupid.” He snorted and let out a quiet giggle as several other students agreed with him, eliciting indignant protest from Momota.

It was quite the humorous situation, that much was true, but it only took one glare for Ouma to register just how deep of a grave he was digging for himself.

Well, may as well put the nail in the coffin.

“Ooookay, it’s true. I told Hoshi-chan.”

There it was. His direct involvement in the crime. He told Hoshi who had his video, which caused him to lose all hope and give himself up to his killer. Ouma really hadn't meant to let anybody die; it was against his code. He knew why Hoshi needed to see his video, and he wanted to help the tennis pro find motivation to keep living.

Instead, he wound up sending a man to his death. Another mistake, another tally mark. His life and arms were full of them. He ignored Saihara as the detective questioned him about the truth of his statement. All he could hear was the same boy’s words from mere hours before.

_“All you’ve ever done is mess with us, because you don’t give a damn about anyone except yourself!”_

Ouma resisted the instinctive urge to wrap his arms protectively around himself. He only ever wanted to help. If they had viewed the motives together like he planned, support could have been offered to those who needed it. They could have discussed the possibility of false motives- how on earth did Toujou actually believe she was the prime minister?- or the implications of Harukawa’s true talent. She was _dangerous._ And yet… Ouma knew that even if they were scared at first, the others would try to support her. It didn’t matter that she could kill them at any moment; they would waste on her the consideration they never bothered to give him. Because he, the menace, the liar, would never be worth any of their time.

It was then that the supreme leader made a fateful decision. In that moment, he resolved to work alone. Even if he had to endure the hatred of everyone else, and Momota’s punishments for what he would soon do, his plan would continue to move forward.

_After all,_ he thought grimly, _the show must go on._

* * *

 

7:10pm 

Trudging out of the trial grounds, Saihara noted that the remaining twelve students were the picture of misery.

Except for Ouma, of course; he was as overly cheerful as ever.

“Hey wait, I have something to tell you guys!” They all whipped around, Momota sending a particularly harsh glare. He was done with the boy’s shit, Saihara assumed.

“Why should we listen to what you have to say?” The astronaut grumbled.

Ouma blinked a few times, then huffed. “You guys are acting like I'm some sort of compulsive liar or something, but there's actually a bigger liar than me here.”

“Huh?” Saihara furrowed his brow. _Is that even possible?_ He almost snorted at such dry humor.

“I'm talking about Harukawa-chan, of course!”

“Harukawa-san?”

The girl in question narrowed her eyes as Ouma said, “I've known her real identity this whole time!” Then, she seemed to disappear.

In the blink of an eye, the supreme leader was dangling in the air, Harukawa’s hand around his throat. Saihara’s eyes widened from not just the violent act, but also the fact that it put into perspective just how small Ouma was. His personality kind of overshadowed that fact sometimes.

Nobody said a thing as Ouma choked out words, seemingly unfazed by his windpipe being slowly crushed. When he ended on “Ultimate Assassin,” however, the class erupted into shouts of confusion and shock. When Harukawa dropped him and stalked off, Momota stepped forward.

“We don't know the full story guys; we can't make assumptions. I'm gonna chat with Kokichi.”

_‘Kokichi’..?_

As if to prove his point, he pulled the boy to his feet and dragged him away by the wrist, ignoring the whines of “Momota-chaaaan! Let me go!” Had it been anyone else, Saihara may have believed the plea was _frightened._

“Nyeh...Harukawa-san must be strong.” Yumeno spoke up, rubbing her eyes. “That looked painful.”

“Hmph!” Chabashira shook her head from her spot beside the short magician. “Serves that degenerate right! Boys should never be snooping around in girls’ personal business!”

Shirogane piped up, “I don't think that warrants being choked, though. Harukawa-san _is_ dangerous, after all…”

“Grape shota probably liked it!”

“Iruma-san, that logic is…”

“Gonta hope Ouma-kun is okay.”

Their voices all blurred together into white noise, Saihara’s focus on nothing more than a certain violet-eyed supreme leader. It was disconcerting, to say the least, seeing him dangling from just one of Harukawa’s hands. As though he weighed nothing, as fragile and pale as a porcelain doll.

A porcelain doll hidden beneath layer upon layer of plastic smiles and silver tongues.

* * *

 

7:18pm 

For the second time that day, Momota’s nails were digging deep into Ouma’s wrist. He was dragging the boy away from the Shrine of Judgement, down a dirt path that lead away from both the school building and the dorms. It was like a scene from a horror movie, and absolutely terrifying.

Still, he kept up the playful façade. “Momota-chaaaan~, where are we going?”

The taller boy growled, “wouldn't you like to know.”

Ouma swallowed the dread clogging his throat as they entered an area of grass almost as tall as the supreme leader himself. Not that that was much of a feat, but still. Tall grass, and a stone slab reading ‘horse a.’ Momota stopped, whipping around to face him.

“Knees. Now.”

The shorter boy’s newfound obedience lowered him to the ground, already beginning to tremble. “O-Out here? What if-if someone sees?”

“You think I care?” Momota snarked. “You're the one who oughta be ashamed, a ‘supreme leader’ so easily conquered. I would say you're pathetic, but I think you understand that by now, so how about... _worthless.”_ Ouma couldn't suppress a flinch, causing the astronaut to smirk. “I’ve been pent up since this morning thanks to us being interrupted, so get to work.”

Momota gave the order as though the small boy would be doing it himself, but the hand that held his hair in a vice-like grip made him more of a tool than anything else. His mouth, his ass, his mental stability… everything was a tool to be manipulated by Momota.

God, he _hated_ being manipulated.

“You think it’s funny, the shit you pull? Stealing motive videos, messing around in the trials, exposing secrets that you have no right to know in the first place?” The astronaut held Ouma’s head down, smirking as the boy struggled to breathe. “Terrible. Everything about you is just terrible. Even _Shuichi_ hates you, Kokichi.”

_Saihara-chan...hates me?_ Immediately, tears formed, pricking at the corners of his eyes. Saihara hated him. Saihara _hated_ him. Saihara, the only person to ever try and understand him, never actually wanted to see him. As his vision blurred and Momota’s hips moved faster, his gaze fell upon the stone slab just a few feet away. An idea began to form.

_Painting me as the despicable villain, huh? Fine then. If that’s the role I’m meant to play, so be it._

Neither of them heard the soft swishing of the grass, or saw the disappearance of two long pigtails around a corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who?


	7. Naked and Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An average morning in the Ultimate Academy for Gifted Juveniles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late chapter again! But, also again, over 2000 words! Love meeeee-  
> Oh yeah also, as of 3/7/18, I've added song lyrics to the beginnings of the chapters.
> 
> Additional Warnings: Emotional manipulation, humiliation, possessive behaviors, non-con kissing, physical abuse.

_"Bah bah black sheep, have you any soul?_  
_No sir, by the way what the hell are morals?_  
_Jack be nimble, Jack be quick._  
_Jill's a little whore and her alibis are dirty tricks."_

* * *

Killing Game Day 13 - 7:22am 

When Ouma awoke, he immediately verified that his arms were indeed still bandaged, not bleeding from new wounds. His night had been plagued with images of razor blades, insults, hands, and... _Saihara-chan?_ A shiver ran down the supreme leader’s spine. The cruel malice on the detective’s usually kind face would haunt him forever.

On the topic of haunting images: _“Who’s the most important person in your life?”_ Instantly Ouma leapt up, checking under his pillow for the motive video he knew was hidden there, but as Monokuma’s voice continued to mock him, he heard a chuckle from the side of the room. He froze.

“Evil leader, huh?” Momota laughed again. “You run a _prank_ squad.”

It took a moment, but the small boy turned around with a grin. “Monokuma just did that to downplay my talent. It wouldn't seem like motive to kill if it just showed my ten thousand worthless subordinates.”

A snort, “don't lie, Kokichi.”

“Lie? Moi? Never!” Ouma laced his hands behind his head, only now realizing that he had only worn boxers to bed. And Momota was there. Great.

The astronaut stood up and stalked over to him, any amusement wiped clean from his expression. The small ruler moved back instinctively, but the astronaut continued forward, kneeling on the bed in order to back Ouma up against the headboard. The boy faltered as Momota towered over him, turning his head away.

“Look at me, Kokichi.” He didn't. _“Look at me, Kokichi.”_ Still, he didn't. He was paralyzed. Momota growled and gripped Ouma’s jaw in one hand, forcing the shorter boy to face him. “You are not to disobey orders, and you are _not_ to lie to me. Understood?” He nodded slowly. “Say it.”

“W-What?”

The grip on his chin tightened, “say it, Kokichi. Say you won't disobey or lie.”

“B-but-”

“Say it, Kokichi!” The astronaut raised a fist.

Ouma flinched away. “I won't d-disobey or l-lie to Momota-k-kun!”

“Heh, good boy.” The taller man released his jaw with a laugh. He set a hand on the supreme leader’s shoulder, running his thumb over part of the boy’s bare collarbone. “Who’s a good little whore?”

A whimper slipped past his lips, “I-I am.”

“You're what?”

He closed his eyes tight, shivering as Momota’s hand trailed up his neck. “I'm a good little whore.”

“Whose whore?”

One tear escaped onto his cheekbone. “M-Momota-kun’s whore.”

“How cute,” Momota smirked, brushing Ouma’s bangs to the side before resting that hand on his cheek. He ran the pad of his thumb under the boy’s eye, wiping the tear away. He then leaned forward and pressed a light, almost sweet kiss to the dictator’s forehead. “You are mine, Kokichi Ouma, and no one else’s.”

The gesture was so gentle, so intimate, so much more affectionate than Ouma had ever experienced, he had to actively refrain from leaning into the touch. _Contact-starved enough to find comfort in a rapist…_ His shoulders began to shake, tears falling unrestrained. It was too much, far too much for his aching soul. He wondered what it would be like for Saihara to treat him so delicately, so lovingly tender that his heart would flutter and soar, breaking down the walls he no longer knew how to lower. The walls Momota seemed to phase through, haunting him.

“You should be grateful, really.” Momota shattered the temporary repose, pulling Ouma to his feet and shoving one of the spare outfits into his arms. It did not go unnoticed that a scarf was conveniently absent from the pile. “I mean seriously, who would ever want a relationship with _you?_ Get dressed so we can get breakfast.”

He chose not to respond, shuffling towards the bathroom in search of even a few minutes of respite. Momota, however, had other plans. “Ah ah ah, not in there, Kokichi.” He grabbed the leader by the shoulders and positioned him in front of the dorm room’s full body mirror, standing menacingly behind him. “Right here, where we can _both_ see you.”

The astronaut may have continued speaking, he may not have, Ouma would never know. He was too busy staring at his reflection in horror to pay any attention.

Bruises littered his body, blue-black splotches in the shape of bite marks and handprints, one of Harukawa’s hands on his neck and two of Momota’s on his hips. A faded green and purple reminder of Momota’s fist against his face, the concealer he’d been covering it with having wiped off during the night. Knees red and angry, scratches on his thighs from being held far too tight. He wouldn't even dare to let his eyes linger on his chest, knowing two of the most abused spots were there. No part of him was safe.

Momota’s hand traced the waistline of Ouma’s underwear, slipping his thumb beneath it. “No closing your eyes, Kokichi. You're mine and I'm gonna make damn sure you know it.”

The supreme leader tried not to think as the last of his clothing was removed, tried not to hyperfocus on the hands that, resting on his hips, could nearly circle his thin waist. He focused on staying still and quiet, the way Momota liked him to be. Small and helpless, barely even taking up space, his confidence and larger-than-life personality tucked away in favor of the frightened child he truly was.

Hands roamed up his sides, ghosting over each rib that pushed at his fair skin. They trailed across his shoulder blades, down every vertebra of his back, to rest on the supple curve of his ass. Then they left, and he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

Until, of course, the astronaut wrapped one strong arm around his abdomen, restraining the supreme leader against him. A hiss escaped his lips as the other arm grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking his head to the side. Momota latched onto his neck like a lamprey, biting and sucking without mercy.

“Nn..stop,” Ouma flinched, eyes widening when he realized what the taller man was doing. “No! D-Don't leave a- gh!” His breath hitched, words failing him as the other bit down harder, tongue and teeth digging into his flesh.

Satisfied, Momota moved back, brushing his thumb over the mark with a triumphant smirk. “Yeah, Harumaki left a couple bruises, but _that_ is gonna stand out for sure.”

Ouma could feel himself shaking as he eyed the mark in the mirror. That was one hell of a hickey.

Momota released him, then firmly slapped his ass, eliciting something between a squeal and a shriek from the small boy. “Just as sensitive as ever, huh? _Damn,_ you're fuckable. Annoying, bratty, unlikable, insensitive, selfish, and a liar, but hella fuckable. Just looking at you makes me wanna bend you over and pound you until you forget your own name.”

 _You've already almost done just that…_ Ouma sighed internally, slipping on his DICE uniform with practiced motions. _It doesn't feel right without the scarf, but there's not much I can do about that._ He self-consciously placed both hands on his neck, hiding the bruises and hickeys from view. Momota chuckled, reappearing behind him.

“Like I said, you're _mine._ Don't forget it.”

* * *

8:02am 

When Momota entered the dining hall just minutes after the morning announcement, Saihara glanced up from his coffee with a friendly smile. When Ouma trailed in behind him, however, the detective did a double take. The supreme leader’s face was blank, expressionless, his posture neutral, eyes scanning the room before simply resting on the far wall. His scarf was gone again, displaying the torn collar of his shirt and, well, Harukawa’s fingerprints staining his alabaster skin.

Oh, and the massive hickey that seemed to match his hair in color.

Momota sat in his usual seat beside Saihara, their backs to the windows, and Ouma sat across from them. The former took a fair helping of food from the plates on the table- most likely courtesy of Toujou prior to her passing-, while the latter opted to nibble on a strawberry. Saihara noted that the small boy had initially reached for a cup of yogurt, hesitated, and switched to the fruit instead.

He failed to notice Momota smirking at such an action.

“Take a picture, Saihara-chan; it'll last longer.”

Saihara blinked a few times, realizing he had zoned out while staring at a now-smirking Ouma. His face flushed, “ah! S-Sorry, Ouma-kun. I didn't mean to stare.”

“Just kidding, my beloved! Gaze at my irresistible cuteness to your heart’s content!” The boy grinned and batted his eyelashes, crossing his arms over his chest. It took a moment to register why that looked so weird.

Whenever he donned that shit-eating grin, Ouma _always_ laced his hands behind his head. It was just...something he did. Something unique, a cute little quirk, like that weird laugh.

 _Wait, cute?_ Saihara felt his face heating up, so he glanced at Momota before the supreme leader could accuse him of staring again.

The dining room was silent for awhile, until none other than the resident pervert broke the silence. “Yo, Homota! Did you bang the grape shota?!” Ouma opened his mouth to retort, most likely with an insult, but the astronaut beat him to it.

“Why the hell would anyone fuck _him?_ Also, I'm straight!” If Saihara didn't know any better, he would've sworn Ouma flinched at the comment.

Iruma tapped the side of her neck. “Cuntma, who the fuck claimed you?”

The small boy’s chair screeched against the tile floor as he pushed it backwards, standing up. _“Claimed?_ Supreme leaders belong to _no one!_ Is your memory really that bad? Harukawa-chan _choked_ me yesterday, you filthy cockslut. It's not a damn hickey.” He spun on his heel and stalked out the door, leaving behind the scraps of two measly strawberries. _Ouma-kun hasn't had a full meal in at least two days, maybe three… I hope he's okay._

Saihara was mildly surprised when Momota stood up as well, but made it clear he had no intention of following Ouma. “Whatever. Screw that noise, I need some fresh air.” Muttering something about whores, he placed his now empty plate in the sink and left.

 _The last two to arrive and the first to leave… now that I think about it, I haven't seen much of either of them these past few days. Could they be… was Iruma-san right?_ A strange thought, for sure. _Either way,_ he decided, _I need to discuss something with Momota-kun. I should leave before he gets too far away._

Saihara placed his plate on top of Momota’s, briefly wondering who would do the dishes now that Toujou was gone, and speed-walked down the hall.

_Jeez, I forgot how big this place is. How the hell am I supposed to find him now?_

* * *

8:49am 

After nearly a half hour of wandering the school, Saihara stumbled upon just the astronaut he was looking for. Ouma too, but that wasn't much of a surprise.

What surprised Saihara was the passionate lip-lock the two boys were currently engaged in.

The supreme leader was backed against the hallway wall, Momota towering over his lithe form. One of the astronaut’s arms was around Ouma’s waist, holding him close, the other resting on his bare hip while having pushed his shirt up slightly.

The small boy was readily accepting the advance, clutching at Momota’s shirt in what could have been an attempt to push him away or to pull him even closer. Based on the sounds Ouma was making against the other’s lips, Saihara assumed the latter.

They were just...making out in the hallway, not even trying to hide. It kind of surprised the detective; the lying trickster seemed like the type to not want others knowing about his relationships, especially if that relationship was with his supposed ‘enemy.’

Momota growled something into Ouma’s ear, nipping at the lobe, before the hand on his hip began to work its way up his shirt. After a moment, the liar arched his back and let out a sound that was so quiet yet so obscene it went straight to Saihara’s groin. Momota chuckled, continuing to prod at Ouma’s chest, the boy biting his lip to stifle further noises.

It occurred then to Saihara that he was witnessing a very intimate interaction, something to be kept private, so he quickly darted back the way he came.

* * *

8:53am 

“He's gone.” Momota mumbled, giving Ouma’s disheveled appearance a once-over. “You performed well, my little slut.”

“Why..?” Ouma puled, asking the fatal question. “W-Why are you d-doing this to me?” He winced when the taller boy’s glare grew sharp.

“Well that's quite simple, actually.” The astronaut’s lips drew into a tight line, expression deadly serious. In one fluid motion, he backhanded the small boy across the face, then kneed him in the gut, sneering.

“To shut you up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now why would Momota want to do that?  
> Rather, is it even Momota who wants to?
> 
> Thanks to chapter 5's anonymous artist for another gorgeous piece! I absolutely adore the shading and use of color in this one, and it captures the mood perfectly.


	8. Practiced Kicks and Magic Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, our child makes a friend. Poor dear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a relatively early chapter! I wrote most of this last night out of pure spite thanks to a rather rude comment I received on Chapter 7 yesterday.
> 
> Warnings: Mild choking/gagging, Saihara being a bit of an emotional wreck (and maybe starting to grow a brain.)

_“ I am not a stranger to the dark_

_Hide away, they say, 'cause we don't want your broken parts._

_I've learned to be ashamed of all my scars_

_Run away, they say, no one'll love you as you are.”_

* * *

 ???

“I'm done. I refuse to play along unless you return it.”

“Return what, darling?”

“You know exactly what! This plan’s already going to shit, and it'll only get worse if you don't give it _back!”_

“Now, now, there's no need to shout. I understand, really, but the audience is eating this plot up! They love it! They love _you._ And that's what you wanted, right? Fame?”

“…”

“Glad to see we’re on the same page.”

“I...he needs it, [REDACTED].”

“Ugh, _fine._ If that's all it takes for you to keep this up, then I'll return it. But that's the only favor I'm giving you, [REDACTED]. Everything else you'll just have to deal with.”

“Thank you.”

“No. Thank _you,_ darling.”

* * *

 10:33am

Shuuichi Saihara had never been able to deal with emotions very well. As a detective, feelings tended to get in the way; it was easier to just pretend they didn't exist, push them into the back of his mind until a more convenient time presented itself.

Well, now was that time, but he couldn't even begin to make sense of what he was feeling. After leaving Momota and Ouma to their... _activity,_ he began to feel a twisting in his stomach, like he was angry at them. But that just didn't make sense. It was something akin to frustration, or envy…

Was this jealousy?

 _Jealous? Of what?_ Ouma, for having Momota? Momota, for having Ouma? ...both, for finding love in a place as hellish as this?

Did he want to be in Ouma’s place, trapped between a wall and a rather muscular astronaut? What about Momota’s place, dominating the enigma with the title of Supreme Leader? He wasn't sure. When it came to something as confusing as love, he was never sure.

He pinned pictures of both boys onto the corkboard on the wall, drawing a small heart between them, with a question mark beside it.

_Something about them...seems wrong._

* * *

 11:07am

If Ouma had to pick one thing he hated most about his situation, it would be how _routine_ the whole thing had become. Four days in a row now, Momota had elected the few hours between breakfast and lunch as the perfect time to force himself on the supreme leader. He expected it, he dreaded it, and he _hated_ it.

But what could he do about it? Sure, he _acted_ powerful, but in reality he was about as harmless as a newborn kitten. Momota knew that too, which was why when he leaned down to capture the boy’s lips in his own, receiving a slap to the face, he was legitimately surprised.

The astronaut narrowed his eyes, pressing one hand onto Ouma’s throat with a growl. “Why you little _bitch-”_

“W-Wait, stop, please-” the boy gasped out, shivering and squirming. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I w-won't do it again I swear, just p-please listen!”

Momota paused, raising an eyebrow.

“Please, d-don't kiss me. D-Do whatever you want with my body, I don't c-care anymore, just please…” he whimpered, staring brokenly into his tormentor’s eyes. “I-I'm begging you, n-not that.” For a moment, all was quiet.

Then Momota began to laugh. “Saving that for ‘Saihara-chan’, are you? How cute. It's like you think your whore mouth is pure.” He lightly slapped the small boy’s cheek a few times. “Do I need to remind you what you've swallowed at this point?” Ouma closed his eyes, turning his head away. “Alright, I won't kiss you, but only because you're so damn adorable. Oh, and because you said I can do whatever I want, _right?”_

“L-Like you've ever needed permission…”

The astronaut simply laughed again, “point taken.” Suddenly, the faux-cheerful demeanor disappeared, two of Momota’s fingers being shoved straight into the back of the boy’s throat, pressing down on his tongue. “Did I fucking ask for your opinion?”

Ouma gagged in response, his stomach lurching painfully.

“Whatever I want, huh?”

* * *

 2:13pm

Kokichi Ouma could definitively say that he despised Maki Harukawa. She was an assassin, a cold-blooded killer that went against everything he stood for. He had outed her to show the other students how dangerous she was, nearly getting himself killed in the process, only to find that it was all for naught. Somehow- thanks to Momota, most likely- _Ouma_ had been painted as the villain in this situation. They all hated him so much that they would be more cautious of him than a literal _murderer._ In a godforsaken _death game,_ no less.

Yet as Momota elected to go bother Harukawa instead of continuing to control every aspect of Ouma’s life, he couldn't help but be grateful for her entire existence. Finally, _finally,_ he would get a reprieve.

What would he do with that time anyway? Why, spend it doing magic tricks with Yumeno, of course! Sure, the magician’s were actual performance tricks whereas his were more sleight of hand and pickpocketing skills, but magic can take many forms. One thing they were both good at was escape tricks, something the supreme leader considered ironic given the whole situation with Momota. The two had a great deal of fun messing around with his spare uniforms, considering they were quite similar to straitjackets. Even Chabashira, who was there in her usual quest to steal Yumeno’s heart, was fairly supportive of Ouma in his endeavors. It was strange, really, watching the man-hating martial artist applaud _his_ abilities too, not just Yumeno’s. He found himself drawn to the validation her support provided, basking in the feeling of being appreciated and encouraged. It felt like it'd been an eternity since he'd been anything but powerless.

It was...nice. Pleasant. Serene.

_Hopeful._

“Nyeh! I almost forgot!” The red-headed magician leapt to her feet from where the three of them sat on the floor, far more energized than usual. Ouma noted that being in the spotlight was like plugging into a power source for her, charging up her typically lazy persona. She quickly darted out of the room, spouting some gibberish about Gonta and pigeons.

This left behind the supreme leader and the Aikido master, a pair that in any other circumstance may not have ever chosen to interact. In fact, they probably would've sat in silence until Yumeno returned had Chabashira not placed a square of thin green cloth atop his head. Ouma pulled it off with a quiet giggle and turned to the martial artist, taking a surprised note that the pinwheel usually tied into her hair was absent.

“I-I know it's not the same as your scarf, but I want you to be comfortable.” With a soft, caring smile, she reached out to set a hand on his knee. She paused, staring into his eyes. It took him a moment to realize she was asking for permission to touch him, and he nodded his affirmation. Her touch was light, gentle, enacted in a way that wouldn't make him want to run.

“Why are...how did you know?”

“There's a reason I hate men, Ouma-san. I know a survivor when I see one.”

Ouma slowly raised the cloth to his neck, tying it in the same manner as his checkered scarf. Sure, he'd have to give it back when they parted ways, but in the time they spent together, he would make the most of the temporary comfort. He scooted closer to her, amethyst irises meeting emerald. The former were glassy, filled with a lifetime of pain; the latter held pure understanding.

“Can I have a hug?” He whispered, voice a speck of dust in the wind.

“Whenever you need one.” She responded in kind, not disturbing their peaceful atmosphere.

For that brief moment in time, Kokichi Ouma let his mask lower ever so slightly, relaxing in the arms of another without feeling an overwhelming fear of what was to come. She asked if she could stroke his hair. He hesitated, then shook his head; Momota was constantly pulling on it when they were together. Her hands remained on his upper back, avoiding anywhere that would cause him discomfort.

When she began to whisper that he was okay, that he would be safe with her, he allowed a single tear to fall.

“You don't deserve what he did to you, Ouma-san. You never deserved it.”

“But I..I let him…”

“Shh..” she cooed, lightly rubbing circles on his back. “You didn't let him do anything. None of this is your fault.” Her voice was soft, so unlike her usual tone, he clutched at her uniform like the comfort might disappear at any moment. “You can cry if you need to; you don't have to be afraid. You're strong, so strong. You're a survivor.”

For the duration of their embrace, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, somebody out there cared about him.

* * *

 5:57pm

Saihara was fully aware that his classmates were quite the cast of characters, but that didn’t make it any less shocking when Ouma entered the dining hall with Yumeno and _Chabashira_ of all people. Yumeno and he were both generally childish and something of tricksters, but Chabashira? How...did that happen? The Aikido master certainly wasn’t showing the small boy the same malice as she had previously, if the makeshift scarf he was wearing was any indication.

_Well, however it happened, I’m glad they’re getting along._

Ouma sat beside Saihara, in a seat that Momota often occupied, and the taller martial artist sat next to him, the magician slumping in the next chair over. They were following him in a way that was almost...protective. The detective leaned over to the boy in white with a questioning stare, “did you trick them into something?”

The small leader pouted, “how mean, Saihara-chan! I have done nothing of the sort!”

Before the detective could respond, another voice rang out. “Kokichi, get out of my spot.” Both boys jumped at the command coming from directly behind them, the one addressed tensing and looking away. His violet eyes darted from Saihara, to Chabashira, and back to Momota, before he swallowed and stood up.

“Whatever.” He huffed, prancing over to the empty chair beside Yumeno. The astronaut sat down, patting Saihara’s back.

“He wasn’t bothering you again, was he? Annoying little brat.”

The detective’s brow creased slightly. Annoying him? They’d barely gotten to talk at all before Momota interrupted. His gaze shifted past the taller man, watching as Chabashira stood up, muttering about degenerate males, and made her way over to the spot next to Ouma. So she hated the astronaut as much as the next guy, but was completely willing to be in close proximity with the supreme leader? He had a lot more to add to his corkboard tonight.

“No. He wasn’t bothering me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to a guest who comments under the pseud "*insert witty pun*" for that wonderful fanart!  
> Have art to submit? Hit me up on Discord @ Panta#3783 !


	9. Light, Dark, Dawn, and Dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma is saved, and then he isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take note of the times listed at the beginning of each section.

_“'Cause nobody wants to go it on their own_  
_And everyone wants to know they're not alone._ _  
_ _Somebody else that feels the same somewhere._  
_There's gotta be somebody for me out there.”_

* * *

 7:12pm

Dinner was followed by various conversations, students heading back to their dorms alone or in groups, until only four remained: Chabashira, Ouma, Yumeno...and Momota. Arms crossed in an annoyed manner, the latter rose from his seat and cleared his throat. “Kokichi.” He stepped towards the door, motioning for the supreme leader to follow him.

Without missing a beat, the boy stood, making to obey the command before being stopped in his tracks.

“Nyeh…” Yumeno, still seated, had her arms wrapped around Ouma’s waist, resting her head against his side. “Do more magic with me, Ouma.” Before either boy could protest, she whined, “Chabashira, make him come back to my lab.”

The Aikido master groaned audibly. “You shouldn't have degenerates in your lab, Yumeno-san! And you shouldn't be hugging him either!”

In response, the mage tightened her hold, to which the small boy let out an undignified squeak. “My MP will recharge faster if there's another mage there…”

“Really? Wow! Yumeno-san’s magic is so cool!” Chabashira squealed excitedly and scooped the supreme leader up in her arms like he weighed nothing, eliciting another squeak from him. “No dawdling, Ouma-san! There's no time to waste!” She then jogged out of the room with a vocally protesting Ouma, Yumeno passing by a blank-faced Momota as she followed them.

As the door swung shut, Momota clenched a small bottle in his fist, seething through his teeth. “Oh, that little _bastard…_ ”

* * *

 10:01pm

“Is he always this late?”

Saihara almost laughed; Harukawa’s second night training with him and Momota, and she was already scowling at the astronaut’s lack of punctuality. “It's only a minute after ten, Harukawa-san. I'm sure he’ll be here any second.”

She scoffed. “He drags me out here and lectures me about getting things done, yet he doesn't even bother to show up on time.”

After several more minutes of waiting, they decided to just start the training routine without Momota. Settling into the rhythm of doing push-ups, Saihara debated his next statement for a moment, then, “maybe Ouma-kun held him up.” Just the boy’s name seemed to put Harukawa in a bad mood. She hastened her already inhuman speed.

“That brat? Why?”

“Well, I think something’s going on between them.” He recalled the scene he walked in on that morning, feeling another pang of that inexplicable jealousy. “I saw them kissing this morning.”

Harukawa halted her exercising. _“...what?”_

The detective nodded in affirmation. “They were just...making out. In the hallway. At nine in the morning.”

“That's just...ugh. I don't like that image.”

He smirked, “you jealous?”

“Are you?” She shot back. “You seem plenty happy to follow Momota-kun’s orders like an obedient puppy, and you're literally the only one who tolerates Ouma.”

“Gonta-kun tolerates him.”

“He doesn't count. Stop deflecting.”

“Right back at you, Harukawa-san.”

Momota never showed up for training.

* * *

 7:17pm

When they reached Chabashira’s dormitory- the excuse of visiting Yumeno’s lab was a lie- the newly formed trio all broke out into fits of giggles, Chabashira feeling particularly breathless after having run the distance while carrying Ouma. Granted, he was awfully light. _Too light_ , the Aikido master noted with a frown. _God, Ouma-san, have you been eating regularly?_

She voiced this question aloud as Yumeno bid them goodnight and their laughter faded out, growing concerned when the usually confident boy dropped his gaze to the floor. “He...he hasn’t been letting me eat. Dinner just now was the first real meal I’ve had in almost three days. This morning I had a couple strawberries and yesterday I had some toast, but that’s it.” He sighed, “it’s fine, though. Truth is, I’m pretty used to not eating.”

“Ouma-san, that’s…”

“Haha! Just kidding!” The supreme leader’s face broke into a wide grin. “I have plenty of subordinates to do the cooking for me! I eat five square meals a day at home!” Chabashira simply shook her head and sat down on the bed, grabbing the boy’s wrist to pull him down beside her.

She immediately regretted that decision when he jerked back, holding his hands against his chest protectively, fear flashing in his wide purple irises. “No!” The room was silent for a moment as his momentary panic subsided, quickly being replaced by a burning shame. “I-I’m sorry, Chabashira-chan… Momota-kun always holds or ties my wrists when he…” he trailed off, unable to continue.

The martial artist nodded in understanding, taking note of the telling change in honorific. “It’s alright, Ouma-san. It was wrong of me to grab you like that.” She opened her arms with a smile, “hug?”

He practically threw himself onto her, snuggling up beside her on the bed. She sat with her back against the headboard, smiling in amusement as the small boy curled up like a cat and lay his head on her thigh. It was cute, she thought, but also saddening, seeing just how little he was. _He could fit inside one of these pillowcases if he wanted to...no wonder Momota-san targeted him of all people._ She lightly rubbed circles into his back, closing her eyes as the motion soothed them both.

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

She opened one eye as the whispered question reached her ears, giving a small smile and a nod. He smiled tiredly up at her. “Momota-kun stole my keys, so my room isn’t safe anymore... he was there when I woke up this morning.” Ouma shivered, curling further in on himself. His smile fell. “He stripped me in front of a mirror, made me stare at all the bruises and watch as he touched me, and then...he…” the supreme leader raised one hand to cover part of his neck. “He left this stupid hickey!”

Chabashira pulled a blanket over the boy’s shaking form as he cried, her heart aching for the poor boy.

“He-He kissed me in front of Saihara-ch-chan…” Ouma burst into heart-wrenching sobs at that, mumbling incoherently to himself. Chabashira shushed and cooed him, but it was to little avail, as he proceeded to cover his ears. Finally, she could make out what he was saying, and the words chilled her to the core. “I belong to Momota-kun; I’m a good little whore. I belong to Momota-kun; I’m a good little whore. I belong to Momota-kun; I’m-”

“That isn’t true, Ouma-san!” Her words seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, and as his eyes rose to meet hers, they both cried silent tears. “You don’t belong to anyone except yourself. You’re not a-” she swallowed the bile that rose in her throat at the word- “a whore, no matter what he or anyone else says.”

He said nothing, simply laying back down with a blank look on his face, slowly closing his eyes as the exhaustion caught up with him. It hit her then that the strongest, most collected person she’d ever met just had a panic attack right before her eyes.

All that had happened to him in one day, and who knew how many days it had been going on… She couldn't just sit idly by while Momota continuously had his way with Ouma. She _wouldn’t._ Something had to be done. Something very, very unfortunate.

Chabashira sighed softly, “I’m sorry, Ouma-san,” and left the room.

* * *

 Killing Game Day 14 - 6:32am

Dark. Everything was dark. _Where am I…?_ Opening his eyes yielded no improvement, which led to the realization that he was blindfolded. Several other revelations followed in quick succession.

Duct tape covered his mouth. His hands were tied together behind his back; his ankles...were tied, but _not_ together. _Great._ Oh, and he wasn’t in his room. His room smelled like blood and bleach and dry-erase markers; this one smelled like the cologne Saihara always wore. Though, on Saihara it was barely there, only noticeable if you got very close to him, whereas this room absolutely _reeked_ of it. _Huh, Saihara-chan must really like that scent. I suppose it isn’t terrible… wait. Saihara-chan?_

_Why am I tied up in_ Saihara-chan’s _room?_

The supreme leader closed his eyes in thought. Theory after theory raced through his head, none of them good. Was Saihara Momota’s accomplice? Had he known all along what the astronaut was doing to him, and just didn’t care? What would he get out of it? Was he going to..?

Panic filled him for the second time that night.

No. Saihara would never do that to him. He...He wasn’t like that. He wasn’t.

_Ding dong ding!_

Ouma’s eyes shot open, fear and apprehension racing through his veins. _Another murder? No, no, it couldn't be-_

“A body has been discovered! Please report to The Ultimate Supreme Leader’s dormitory!”

_What?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my recent one-shot!  
> Also, see my profile for information on prompt requests.


	10. I can't and I won't and you really, really shouldn't.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A body is found, and a brilliant mind begins to shatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I even have an update schedule? I don't think I've posted a single chapter on the correct day XD. At least it keeps me motivated, in a weird way.
> 
> Thank you guys SO much for 10,000 hits and 500 kudos! <3
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mentions of a body, Ouma's fractured psyche.

_“Where is my prescription?_  
_Doctor, doctor please listen!_  
_My brain is scattered;_ _  
You can be Alice, I'll be the mad hatter."_

* * *

Killing Game Day 14 - 5:48am 

When Saihara’s bleary eyes opened to see the time, he groaned inwardly, rolling over to plant his face in his pillow. Ever since the morning before the second trial, he’d been waking up earlier in hopes of catching another discussion with Ouma. Theirs had been…less than pleasant, but it gave him important insight into the supreme leader’s character. For once he hadn’t been constantly lying.

_“Well you see, my beloved, Momota-chan left it there when he raped me, obviously!”_

Aside from that line, anyway.

But at the same time....it almost made sense. Ouma’s silent, bitter nature as opposed to his typically loud enthusiasm; Momota seemingly hating him when with the group but making out with him in the hallway, not to mention how Ouma could have very well been trying to push him away at the time; and of course, the fact that they would both disappear after breakfast, then Momota would return to lunch alone… the evidence was building up the more Saihara considered it.

Ouma was quick to snatch his scarf when Saihara offered it, but then didn't even wear it the day after. He looked uncomfortable with the fact too. Momota ordered him to get out of “his” chair, and he actually listened, not to mention his budding friendship with Chabashira. Based on her mannerisms, one could make some assumptions about her past. The protectiveness over Ouma would definitely make sense if those assumptions were true.

But...this was Momota. Looking at the evidence, it seemed obvious, but it just didn't fit the astronaut’s character to do something so cruel. He had drawn Saihara and Harukawa out of their shells, building them up with kindness. It just didn't make _sense_ for him to be breaking Ouma down like that.

_“I guess that's a bit freaky, but good riddance, I say! Why do you care anyway? He’s done nothing but cause trouble up ‘til now.”_

_“I'm gonna have a chat with Kokichi.”_

_“Why the hell would anyone fuck him? Also, I'm straight!”_

_“Kokichi, get out of my spot.”_

_“He wasn't bothering you again, was he? Annoying little brat.”_

Momota certainly seemed to be trying to keep Ouma away from the detective. Was he worried he would figure out what was going on?

He considered confronting his friend about the issue, but brushed it off immediately. If, by some weird chance, Ouma wasn't lying, Momota wouldn't react well to the accusation. The smaller boy could get hurt, worse than he already was. Saihara didn't want that.

If he wanted answers, he'd have to talk to Ouma. _Better get out of bed then._

Rubbing his eyes, Saihara rolled out of bed, not at all looking forward to the day. Opting not to go through an extensive morning routine, he simply combed his hair and buttoned the shirt he’d slept in. When he went to pull his jacket on, however, he noticed something odd.

“Where is my cologne..?” He mumbled, patting down his pockets. “I could've sworn I put it in my pocket last night before dinner…” _Damn, I really liked that one, too._

Saihara shrugged and buttoned his jacket before stepping out the door, hoping not to get caught up with anyone before he could find Ouma.

Apparently, the universe had other plans.

“Tenko! Tenko open the door!” Yumeno was frantically pounding on Ouma’s door, desperately calling out to her friend. “Please, Tenko!”

“Yumeno-san?” Saihara questioned the girl on the balcony, “why are you knocking on Ouma-kun’s door?”

The mage whirled around to lean precariously over the railing, eyes locking onto the detective’s. “Tenko and Ouma shared Tenko’s room for the night because- well, they shared, but neither of them are there now! I-I'm scared ‘cause Tenko never disappears like this, and nobody’s answering at Ouma’s door and I-I-I don't know what to do!”

 _This is a stupid question but I have to ask…_ “Have you tried opening the door yet?”

Yumeno’s face paled. “...o-oh. It's Ouma’s room. I just assumed it would be locked.” When she turned the handle, to both of their surprises, the door opened. “W-Why isn't it…”

Then she let out a blood-curdling scream.

Saihara raced up the stairs and toward the supreme leader’s room, freezing at what he saw inside.

_Ding dong ding!_

“No…Not again...” Yumeno sank to her knees, tears already spilling from her eyes. “No! No no no!”

Sprawled out on the floor, throat slit, lay the lifeless body of Tenko Chabashira, the Ultimate Aikido Master.

* * *

??? 

_Dark. All was dark. He could see nothing, and barely process his other senses. Everything was just so dulled, groggy, like the world was underwater._

_Vaguely, he managed to make out someone grunting above him, his own muffled whimpers, the harsh slap of skin on skin. He felt the sweat beading on his forehead, the tears on his cheeks, the chafing of the ropes on his wrists and ankles._

_The familiar pain in his lower body._

_He wanted to struggle, to scream, but his limbs would not obey his commands. Nothing happened no matter how hard he tried. Had he been drugged? He wasn't exactly a heavy sleeper, yet this person, presumably Momota, had moved him out of Chabashira’s room without him so much as stirring. Yes, some sort of knockout drug would make the most sense._

_‘He drugged me...and had his way with me...still_ is _having his way with me.’ This had to be Momota’s doing. No one else was so cruel. It felt like Momota, sounded like Momota, smelled-_

_...like Saihara-chan?_

_The world went black._

* * *

6:41am

Ouma breathed sharply through his nose as he snapped out of the memory from the previous night. Memory...it couldn't have been a dream. It was too realistic, too fitting, too achingly full of deja vu to be false.

Had Saihara really done this to him?

Part of it made sense. This whole setup was clearly premeditated in a way that was distinctly different from Momota’s typical fashion. As tears began to well up, Ouma shook his head and grit his teeth. _No. No crying. This isn’t the time to feel sorry for myself. I...I need to escape this!_

_Just...turn the emotions off. On, off, like a light switch. Think logically._

Ignoring a steadily forming headache, he flexed his fingers and pulled his legs, gauging what he had to work with. _Whatever’s behind me, my hands aren't attached to it. If I get my feet free, I'm flexible enough to fu- to get my hands in front of me. It'll only take one hand to rip the tape off my mouth, so that should be fine… then I can try using my teeth on these ropes, I think. This could work. Maybe._

Ouma couldn't remember the last time he ever doubted one of his own plans. He was a genius problem-solver, for god’s sake! A supreme leader! Plotting was about the only thing he did right aside from deception and apparently sucking dick.

_Did Saihara-chan make me do that, too? To think, I actually believed someone could love m-_

_Shut up. First priority: get feet free._

After what could have been a minute or an hour of calculated twisting and turning, Ouma found that when he pulled his foot at a particular angle, with enough force, it could slip out of the loop in the rope. _Well, I almost dislocated my ankle, but at least I'm not sitting here with my legs spread wider than Iruma-chan’s anymore._ The bound leader snorted at his own joke.

 _Doctor, we've got a strong case of_ **_disassociation_ ** _over here. He's laughing away his pain with dry_ **_humor._ **

_Case. Case. Court case. Detective. Saihara-chan. Saihara-chan, Momota-kun, Saihara-kun, stop it, it hurts, I'm not ready, it's too much-_

With one foot free, he set out on wiggling the other, pulling and pulling until it too was untied. Pain shot through his leg muscles as he pulled them to his chest, sore from being held in such an awkward position. _Now for the fun part._

 _“Let’s have some_ fun, _Kokichi.”_

Humming an obnoxious tune to drown out his mental Momota, Ouma leaned forward on the balls of his feet, almost falling over as he maneuvered his bound hands beneath him. _This would be easier with handcuffs, but I'm small enough to make it wor- ow!_

Trying to stabilize his balance on what he assumed was a bed, one of Ouma’s aching legs gave out, causing him to fall backwards. With no hands to catch his fall, his head struck the headboard _hard._ He let out a muffled groan and struggled to sit up, the pounding in his skull growing exponentially.

An oozing warmth slid down the back of his neck. The supreme leader shuddered, instinctively hunching and curling in on himself. Warm, like Momota’s breath when he leaned in close. Warm, like Momota’s body when it was pressed up against him. So terribly, uncomfortably warm… _Don't focus on that! Focus...focus on the pain. The pain. It hurts._

 _Now he's looking for a_ **_distraction_ ** _! Sound the alarm!_

_It hurts, it hurts, please stop, please-_

_Hum instead! Focus on a catchy tune! Hm hm hmm~_

_Wee-woo! Wee-woo!_

_Please don't hurt me again!_

_I need to get this duct tape off. Grab the corner of the tape-_

_Hmmm hm hmm!_

_Wee-woo, wee-woo! These alarms sure are loud! WEE-WOO!_

_Saihara-kun please! I can't do it! I CAN’T!_

_Rip off in 3,_

_WEEE-WOOO!_

_2,_

_HM HMM HMMM!_

_1._

Ouma jerked his hand to the side, tearing the tape off with a screech.

“SHUT UP!”

_. . ._

“On, off. Like a light switch.”

**Apathy.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor, poor baby.  
> If you're wondering why particular words are bold, there's something they have in common.  
> Feel free to theorize in the comments! I love reading what you all come up with.  
> -Panta-chan


	11. Sticks and Stones (Side A)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bold moves are made, and tears are shed because of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is side A of Sticks and Stones, in Saihara's POV. The next chapter will be side B, from Ouma's POV.

_“I can't take anymore._  
_I'm saying baby,_  
_Please have mercy on me;_ _  
Take it easy on my heart.”_

* * *

6:47am 

“The victim is the Ultimate Aikido Master, Tenko Chabashira. The body was discovered at 5:58am in the dorm room of the Ultimate Supreme Leader, Kokichi Ouma. Cause of death is a slit throat; time of death is approximately 11:00pm.” Harukawa read aloud from where she stood beside Saihara.

> >> **Truth Bullet Added: Monokuma File #3**

The detective knelt beside the body, focusing intently on his investigation and not the fact that Chabashira was dead, or that one of them had killed her, or how she was found in Ouma’s room, or how Ouma had disappeared entirely. Chabashira’s throat was slit in a crimson smile, similar knife wounds decorating her arms. _Defensive wounds,_ Saihara concluded, _there was a struggle._ Gazing around the room, that definitely seemed to be the case. The room was a mess, papers and boxes haphazardly scattered about.

> >> **Truth Bullet Added: Signs of a Struggle**
> 
>   * The victim’s wounds indicate a fight with the attacker. A stack of boxes appears to have been knocked over, and papers remain strewn across the room.
> 

> 
> >> **Truth Bullet Added: Ouma’s Disappearance**
> 
>   * Despite the body being discovered in his room, Ouma is nowhere to be found. Is this a sign of guilt? He was last seen at dinner on the night of the murder.
> 


“Why are you even investigating? It’s pointless, Saihara; obviously Ouma did this.” Harukawa tapped her foot impatiently, arms crossed over her chest. It was clear she had no interest in entertaining other possibilities. “The brat keeps this place locked up tight. Nobody else could’ve gotten in here.”

“No, that’s wrong.” The detective shook his head. “How do you think we discovered the body in the first place? The door was unlocked.”

“Well how did Chabashira get in here then? Did Ouma let her in?”

“Yumeno-san mentioned them sharing Chabashira-san’s room last right, but I’ll have to verify it. Regardless, the room is unlocked and the key is missing. Either whoever killed her took it, or she never had it.” _In fact…_

> >> **Truth Bullet Added: Room Keys**
> 
>   * The body was found in Ouma’s usually-locked room, but the door was unlocked and the key is nowhere to be found. Strangely, Chabashira’s room key is missing as well. Did the killer steal them? For what purpose?
> 

> 
> >> **Truth Bullet Added: Yumeno’s Account**
> 
>   * Shortly before discovering the body, Yumeno claimed that the victim shared her room with Kokichi Ouma for the night. Her full testimony will be necessary before anything can be confirmed.
> 


“Ouma is still the prime suspect, Saihara. You can’t deny that when he conveniently vanishes after you find a body in his room.”

“I know, Harukawa-san. But as a detective, it’s my duty to explore every conceivable scenario. Can you tell me anything about the wound on her neck?” Not wanting to offend her, he stuttered out, “o-only if you’re comfortable, of course! It’s not like I see you as an expert on corpses…”

“It’s fine. I’ll take a look.” Harukawa knelt next to him, tilting Chabashira’s head to inspect the wound in a way that wouldn’t disturb the body. She pointed to one end of the slit. “See how it curves upward at the end here? That indicates the cut was made from behind and above her.”

“So the killer is taller than her?”

“Maybe, or they had her on her knees. Either way, she was held from behind when it happened.”

Saihara nodded. “What about the weapon of choice?”

“It was definitely small. A switchblade, or a paring knife. Something like that.”

> >> **Truth Bullet Added: Maki’s Account**
> 
>   * Based on the angle of the wound, the culprit is either taller than Chabashira, or managed to push her onto the ground before killing her. They held her from behind as it happened. The murder weapon was most likely a small knife.
> 


The detective stood, brushing off his pants. “Alright, I think I've investigated enough here. Thank you for your help, Haru-”

“Wait.” She spoke a single word, silencing him immediately. Much to his confusion, she grabbed one of Chabashira’s limp legs, rolling down her sock. “There’s something crumpled up here; I think it’s a photograph. Correction: two photographs.”

“Photographs? What of?” Saihara questioned, glancing up from his Monopad to see a wide-eyed assassin. “H-Harukawa-san?”

“I’m...not sure.” She handed him the pictures, “just look.”

The detective’s jaw dropped.

The first photo, likely taken from above, depicted one Kokichi Ouma laying on his back, tears flooding his cheeks. Only his upper half was shown, but no more was necessary to tell just what had happened. His eyes were shut tight and his head turned away, yet there was no mistaking the raw, genuine anguish on his features. Imprints of teeth stained his ghastly pale neck, bruises traced his protruding ribs, and his nipples seemed far redder than they should have been. A liquidy white substance streaked across his face and chest, confirming beyond a doubt that this was _exactly_ what it looked like. The second photo was nearly the same, except Ouma’s watercolor eyes were directed at the camera, so vulnerable and full of unadulterated fear it would've been impossible to fake.

Just seeing Ouma’s frail body so exposed and mistreated made Saihara’s throat close up. _Who...Who did this to you, Ouma-kun? How much pain have you been in? How long have you been hiding this from us, too afraid to admit the truth?_

> >> **Truth Bullet Added: Photographs**
> 
>   * Two compromising pictures of Kokichi Ouma appear to have been hastily stuffed into the victim’s sock. The images show him frightened and in tears following what was most likely sexual assault. Is this blackmail of some kind? By whom?
> 


“Harukawa-san, this is…”

“Bad, I know. I hate the brat, but nobody deserves...whatever that is.”

Their stupor of shock was broken by a familiar teasing voice.

“Heh, and I was sure Harumaki-chan would be glad to see me hurt. He chokes me too, y’know.” They both whipped around to see the man of the hour standing in the doorway, wrapped in a sheet that dragged behind him like a cape. His tone had seemed playful, his words scathing, but the expression on his face was so devoid of emotion even Harukawa grew tense.

Despite his words, the assassin attempted to keep her cool. “Where have you been? A corpse just so happens to be discovered in your room, and all you do is run away?”

When Ouma’s eyes landed on Chabashira’s body, his voice switched to a monotone. “I fell asleep in Chabashira-chan’s room last night, but someone must've broken in. As far as I'm aware, I spent the majority of the night tied to a bed.” At that, he shot Saihara a glance that was almost apologetic, riddling the detective with confusion.

> >> **Truth Bullet Modified: Ouma’s Disappearance**
> 
>   * ~~Despite the body being discovered in his room, Ouma is nowhere to be found. Is this a sign of guilt? He was last seen at dinner on the night of the murder.~~
>   * After spending the night in the victim’s dormitory, Ouma claims to have been held captive in another room, unable to recall the transition. He does not appear to be lying, but that may not account for much.
> 


“Tied to a...Ouma-kun, are you...um, okay?”

The supreme leader snorted. “Saihara-chan. My clothes are god knows where, the back of my head is bleeding, my pillar of support is dead in front of me and I’m the main suspect, and my ass hurts so much I'll collapse if you don't let me get dressed and sit down. But besides that? I'm just _dandy.”_

“Don’t take that tone with him,” Harukawa snapped. “He's trying to help you, don't be a brat.”

“Don't tell me to fix my attitude when your idiot boyfriend has spent the past week fucking me senseless.” Ouma growled, genuine frustration in his eyes. Frustration and...helplessness? Saihara supposed that would make sense. _Wait, did he say-_

> >> **Truth Bullet Added: Accusations Against Momota**
> 
>   * According to Ouma, he has been sexually assaulted by Momota multiple times in the past week. Whether this is true or not is unknown, but it could provide insight into the case.
> 


Harukawa stood, stalking menacingly towards him. “How _dare_ you accuse Momota like that? I bet you're lying about the whole thing just to turn us against him. That's it, isn't it?”

As Ouma took a subtle step away from the assassin, Saihara thought back on his speculation from earlier in the morning.

_The whole conversation we had before Hoshi-kun’s death, Ouma-kun didn't play any of his “it's a lie!” games with me. Even when he said Momota-kun assaulted him, he never claimed to be lying._

Saihara’s thoughts were interrupted by a dull _thud._ He looked up to an all-too-familiar sight: Harukawa’s hand around Ouma’s throat, the small boy dangling in the air as though he weighed nothing. This time, however, the supreme leader’s taunting grin was replaced with a cracking mask of poorly disguised fear. The detective leapt to his feet, “H-Harukawa-san! Don't hurt him!”

“Why?” She seethed, tightening her grip, “so he can go around accusing Momota of rape?”

“I'm actually t-telling the tru- gck!” Ouma’s hands spasmed thanks to a lack of oxygen in the brain, his grip on the sheet failing. It fell to the floor, exposing the body he wished he didn't have.

Immediately the boy turned his head to the side, eyes shut tight. “L-Let go…” he croaked. “P-Please...let me c-cover...cover my…”

The detective spoke up, his voice stern. “That's enough, Harukawa-san. Let him go.” The assassin hesitated for a moment, then released Ouma, watching as he collapsed in a heap. He whimpered, curling into a startlingly bruised ball with his eyes still closed. His breaths were quick and labored, his lithe form shivering violently as Saihara knelt beside him. “Ouma-kun, it's okay. You're okay. I'm going to help you.” The detective spoke slowly, softly, so as not to scare the boy. He took his jacket off with the intent of laying it over the small boy, unaware of how the action would be interpreted.

“S-Saihara-kun…” The supreme leader sniffled, gazing up at him with panicked doe-eyes. “Please d-don't hurt me…”

“Deep breaths, Ouma-kun. Relax. You won't do well if you're panicking.”

“Re..lax?” Contrary to his words, his body grew tense. “I-If I relax, w-will you be g-gentle with me..? It hurts, Saihara-kun…”

 _Be gentle with him?_ Saihara’s eyes widened, quickly attempting to remedy the situation. “N-No, that’s not it! I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to, Ouma-kun. I won't...I won’t do what Momota-kun did.”

“Saihara-” he raised a hand, silencing Harukawa, though her crimson glare sent chills down his spine.

Ouma’s eyes were glassy and full of pain. “Y-You...believe me?” Saihara nodded, and he burst into tears. “S-Saihara-chan believes me...he believes me…” his voice broke as the detective sat him up and placed his jacket on the boy’s shoulders. The supreme leader practically threw himself at Saihara, falling onto his lap as his body was wracked with sobs.

Saihara was hesitant to touch him, but settled on placing his arms around the boy in a loose embrace, one he could easily get out of. “You're safe now, Ouma-kun. You're safe.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any questions or comments you don't want seen by the public? Suggestions for future chapters, maybe fanart or spinoffs to submit? Send me a message on Kik! My username is 6Mir6Kat6, screenname is just Miranda.  
> Or: Hmu on Discord @ Panta#3783 !  
> Thanks to RobotRock for this chapter's art!


	12. Sticks and Stones (Side B)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma escapes, in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the long-awaited Side B! This ended up being a lot longer than I expected, clocking in around 2500 words!
> 
> Enjoy!

_“You've got a hold of me,_  
_Don't even know your power._  
_I stand a hundred feet,_ _  
But I fall when I'm around you.”_

* * *

7:02am 

Sitting on his knees on the bed, still blindfolded and halfway done chewing through the ropes on his wrists, Ouma heard the door open. Cold numbness filled the space his panicking would usually take up.

“Well well, Kokichi, looks like you've been busy.” Momota closed and locked the door behind him, footsteps making their way towards Ouma. “Tenko’s dead. They found her in your room.”

He should've felt grief.

“Did you honestly think you could tell someone without me finding out?” Momota snorted, his fist connecting with Ouma’s gut. “Stupid goddamn whore.” The supreme leader didn't make a sound, though his body curled in on itself.

He should've felt indignance.

“So _now_ you shut up. You’re not even begging.” Goosebumps prickled on Ouma’s arms as Momota gripped his chin. He hadn’t even realized how cold he was until he could feel Momota’s warmth bearing down on him. He was close, too close, trapping Ouma’s body with his own.

He should’ve felt discomfort.

The astronaut’s thumb trailed over his lips. “Hey, Kokichi, where do you think we are right now? Shuichi’s room?” Taking the silence for affirmation, he continued, “yeah, that was the goal. You’re actually in my room. Shuichi had nothing to do with this.” Ouma could hear the smirk in his voice.

He should’ve felt relief, or regret.

He should’ve...felt. But he didn’t. Everything was gone, reset, the emotional light switch flicked off. Momota’s hand grazed one of his thighs, and on impulse he pressed them together.

“Come on, don’t do that.” The taller man caressed the shorter’s thigh, leaning down to nip at his ear. He growled lowly, almost seductively. “Go on, spread ‘em. Don’t make me hurt you.”

_You would anyway._ Ouma stayed still, silent, muscles taught. _Hit me all you want; I’m not giving myself to you. Not again._

“What's gotten into you today?” A snicker, “besides me, I mean.” Seemingly having accepted that he wouldn't be getting a response this time, Momota pressed his lips to the small boy’s neck, his goatee brushing against the skin. Ouma shivered. “If you won’t respond to pain, well… I’ll have to try something else.” Large hands nearly covered his pale chest, rolling his nipples between the thumb and forefinger of each.

The touches weren’t harsh or painful like usual; they were gentle, pleasurable, shooting sparks through Ouma’s body. “You’re so sensitive,” Momota muttered, kissing at a spot that parted the supreme leader’s lips in a gasp. “Just like a girl, Kokichi, getting all worked up from me playing with your chest. You like that, don’t you?”

When Momota paused his kissing to run his tongue over one of the sensitive nubs, Ouma felt his resolve slipping as a barely audible moan escaped him. _It’s like he knows all the right places...all the ways to make me fall apart._ “Stop…” he croaked, shaking his head fervently. “I don’t..I don’t like…” He clamped his jaw shut as one of those hands lowered to rest on his growing erection, hissing through his teeth.

The astronaut’s hands were deft, moving in ways that melted the supreme leader like wax beneath a scorching flame. _Is my body really this easy to figure out?_ He came so fast it hurt, face flushed and breathing heavy. In the split second he lost control, those hands slid between his thighs, pushing them apart with ease.

He wondered if Momota only pleasured him to toy with him.

Momota kept his hands bound, but untied the blindfold as he laid Ouma on his back. Violet eyes squinted, blinking repeatedly at the sudden exposure to harsh white light. The taller boy wasted no time, burying himself in Ouma’s ass in one hard thrust. He sighed, pleased. “You’re so much more pliant after cumming, Kokichi. But it’s my turn now, so be a good boy and don’t resist.”

Ouma struggled not to cry out as he was penetrated, Momota’s dick stretching him unforgivingly for the seventh time.

_Seven...times?_

Seven times he'd been raped, held down by strong hands that bent him to their will. Yet it still hurt just as much as the first time, reopening wounds and spilling his blood over and over, never sated. Momota pounded him mercilessly, grinning like a madman.

How long had it been happening now? Five days? Six? It felt like it'd been years since he could sit or stand or walk or use the bathroom or do _anything_ comfortably. And the only way it would end…

_Maybe it would be best if I told-_

Momota’s hands returned to his chest, thumbs pressing against his nipples. Ouma inhaled sharply, his hips inadvertently jerking upwards. “Ngh! I can't...I'm still…s-stop it! Ah~!”

The astronaut smirked cruelly, “feels good, huh? I wonder how fast you’ll cum when you're all sensitive like this.”

Ouma’s body quivered with overstimulation, a line of drool dripping down his chin. Momota removed one hand from his chest to stroke his cock instead. The overwhelming pain, the mind-numbing pleasure, it was all just too much for him to handle.

The apathy, the cold numbness that replaced any fires of passion, his final defense mechanism...shattered.

The supreme leader threw his head back, wailing in pure agony. “Stop! Stop, please! Please god just make it stop! I can't do this anymore, Momota-kun!” His cries were strained, just as broken as he was becoming. “Please please please plea- AH-!” Ouma’s voice broke, dying down into quiet whimpers as he came onto Momota’s hand. The astronaut groaned lowly as Ouma clenched around him, the tight heat creating delicious friction.

“Look at me, Kokichi.” Momota’s pace had sped up incredibly, rough thrusts shaking Ouma’s fragile body to the core. His head hit the headboard repeatedly, the wound from earlier beginning to bleed again. He knew the astronaut was close. “I want to see you break when I claim you.”

Ouma didn't say a word as he obeyed, but his eyes were teary and his thoughts were whirling. _No...not again! Please, not inside again...it's so...so…_

Several harsh thrusts accompanied the heat filling his hole, and one by one tears slipped onto his cheeks.

_It’s so warm…_

Momota growled as he shoved Ouma away, leaving the boy to lay limply on his side. “Listen _bitch,_ I don't know why you thought you could get away with telling Tenko what we do, but you'd better think twice before pulling that shit again. Understand?”

Ouma whimpered, unable to move from where he lay violated on the bed, Momota’s seed dripping onto the sheets. “Y-Yes, Momota-k-kun…”

“Good boy.”

And then Momota left, just like that. He fucked him, came inside him, and threw him away. Like he wasn't even a person, just a toy to be used and discarded, a piece of trash on the side of the road.

It could've been a minute or an hour, Ouma couldn't tell, before the door opened again. Soft footsteps rushed towards him, the door closing behind them. Despite the clear evidence against it, his mind could only assume it was Momota back for another round. “N-No more, please...I-I can't go again. I can't do it.” He sniffled pitifully, hissing in pain as he pulled his knees to his chest.

“Shh, Ouma. I-It’s okay now,” a feminine voice whispered, setting a hand on his shoulder. “I won't hurt you, p-promise.”

The supreme leader recoiled, eyes snapping open as he jerked away from the touch. Yumeno glanced to the side guiltily. “S-Sorry. I’ll try not to touch you.”

“Y-Yumeno-chan…” he mumbled, watching as she untied the ropes from his wrists. Blood had once again begun to stain the bandages there. “H-How did you get-get in here?”

“I took a page out of your book.” She gave him a friendly smile. “Magicians have to pick locks for escape tricks.”

“I...thought you were a mage.” He teased, wincing as he sat up. “O-Ow…”

“C-Careful!” She fretted, averting her eyes. Making him uncomfortable was the last thing she wanted to do. “Sometimes it's okay to admit you can’t do things alone. Even mages and evil supreme leaders need help every once in a while.”

Ouma fell silent, thinking back on a train of thought Momota had derailed. “Yumeno-chan, I…” he looked up, making eye contact.

“I'm going to tell Saihara-chan.”

* * *

8:09am 

Ouma stood in the doorway of his own room, wrapped in a sheet, listening to the detective and the assassin discuss photographs. He had a sinking feeling what those photographs were of.

“Harukawa-san, this is…”

“Bad, I know. I hate the brat, but nobody deserves...whatever that is.”

Ouma stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Heh, and I was sure Harumaki-chan would be glad to see me hurt. He chokes me too, y’know.” His voice was grating in his ears, so hoarse it didn't sound like his own, yet still that _stupidly_ cheerful tone he hated so much.

Part of him wondered how he had the energy to sound happy when he would surely collapse if he tried to so much as smile. His face remained as blank as the apathy he'd tried to show Momota.

Harukawa- boring, predictable Harukawa- was having none of it.

“Where have you been?” She snarled, “a corpse just so happens to be discovered in your room, and all you do is run away?” At the mention of a body, the supreme leader couldn't keep his gaze from moving to Chabashira.

_You died protecting me… you idiot. Why would you do that? I'm not worth protecting._

Too tired to lie, Ouma felt his voice drop to an exhausted monotone. “I fell asleep in Chabashira-chan’s room last night, but someone must've broken in. As far as I'm aware, I spent the majority of the night tied to a bed.” When he glanced at Saihara, the detective’s eyes were wide, confused. _And I truly believed you did it, my beloved… I'm so sorry._

“Tied to a...Ouma-kun, are you...um, okay?” Saihara’s voice was soft, hesitant, a weak attempt to comprehend what he was hearing.

The supreme leader couldn't help but snort at the question. “Saihara-chan. My clothes are god knows where, the back of my head is bleeding, my pillar of support is dead in front of me and I’m the main suspect, and my ass hurts so much I'll collapse if you don't let me get dressed and sit down. But besides that? I'm just _dandy.” Wait, did I actually just tell him my butt hu-_

“Don’t take that tone with him,” Harukawa snapped him out of what was admittedly a ludicrous train of thought. “He's trying to help you, don't be a brat.”

_Fuck off, killer girl!_ His voice lowered into something of a growl as he stared back at the assassin. “Don't tell me to fix my attitude when your idiot boyfriend has spent the past week fucking me senseless.” _Making me feel worthless and inhuman…_ Ouma grit his teeth in frustration, so done with being helpless against Momota’s advances.

Harukawa stood, stalking menacingly towards him. “How _dare_ you accuse Momota like that? I bet you're lying about the whole thing just to turn us against him. That's it, isn't it?”

Ouma forced a confident smirk to hide the small step backwards he took. “Come on now Harukawa-chan, you know better than anyone that I don't lie about people committing serious crimes! Like _murder,_ for example.”

Harukawa’s eyes narrowed, “do you _want_ to get strangled again?”

“Interesting question, nishishi!” It almost felt _good_ to be teasing Harukawa again, like getting back into routine after things fall apart. “Momota-chan can attest that I in fact do _not_ like being choked. But don't worry; there's still hope for your fantasies! He seems to like doing it a whole lot! Hey, do you think he got off the first time you ch-”

“You _brat!”_ The assassin dashed past a thoughtful Saihara to grab Ouma by the throat, lifting him up in a mirror image of the previous incident.

Snapped out of whatever daze he was in, the Ultimate Detective quickly stood up. “H-Harukawa-san! Don't hurt him!”

“Why?” She seethed, eyes empty save for pure murderous intent, “so he can go around accusing Momota of rape?”

Feeling her grip tighten, Ouma panicked. _Can’t breathe can't breathe can’t breathe-_ “I'm actually t-telling the tru- gck!” He began to feel light-headed, the sheet slipping between his clammy fingers. Immediately he could feel their eyes roaming his broken body. A predator’s gaze, hungry, lustful, insatiable. _Please, don't hurt me..._

“L-Let go…” he croaked. “P-Please...let me c-cover...cover my…” It didn't matter that he was falling apart, begging to be hidden, right in front of Harukawa and Saihara. It didn't matter that his walls were falling down, crumbling under his own hand. It didn't matter that they could see every bruise, every bite, every mark Momota had painted on the canvas of his body. He couldn't make them forget that. All that mattered was covering up again, hiding in blankets or towels or clothes or _something_ so _he_ couldn't see it.

Blood rushed in his ears, muffling the voice of Saihara as the grip around his neck loosened, loosened, until _finally_ he fell. Ouma felt himself curl up in a ball as the detective knelt beside him. He saw their eyes connect. Those kind, soft eyes, so sweet and caring, even for someone like him…

He took his jacket off.

_He took his jacket off._

Panic crashed into him with the force of a freight train. _Saihara was..he was going to…_ “S-Saihara-kun…” The supreme leader sniffled, begging to be given a break from Momota’s harsh treatment. “Please d-don't hurt me…”

“Deep breaths, Ouma-kun. Relax. You won't do well if you're panicking.”

_I won't..do...well?_

“Re..lax?” Ouma couldn't control how his body reacted, muscles clenching reflexively despite his desire to obey Saihara’s orders. “I-If I relax, w-will you be g-gentle with me..? It hurts, Saihara-kun…” _Even if you have to fuck me, just please, please be gentler than Momota-kun...I can't take any more..._

In an instant, Saihara’s eyes were wide with realization. “N-No, that’s not it! I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to, Ouma-kun. I won't...I won’t do what Momota-kun did.”

All the tension melted away from Ouma’s body. In the past, he would have criticized himself for believing someone that easily, but he was just so _relieved._

Tears welled in the supreme leader’s eyes, ready to fall at any second. “Y-You...believe me?” Saihara nodded, and the dam broke. Crystal rivers flowed over his cheekbones, his panic all but forgotten. “S-Saihara-chan believes me...he believes me…” his voice broke as the detective sat him up and placed his jacket on his shoulders. The supreme leader practically threw himself at Saihara, falling onto his lap as his body was wracked with sobs.

_Saihara-chan is warm…_

But it wasn't red-hot and scalding in the way Momota was; no, this was the warmth of hot cocoa on a snowy day, the kind of warmth that soothes the soul. It still made him uncomfortable, he couldn't lie about that, but in that moment, he wouldn't trade Saihara’s arms around him for the world.

“You're safe now, Ouma-kun. You're safe.”

_And that's not a lie, is it, Saihara-chan?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna submit fanart, make suggestions, theorize, or just say hi?  
> Hit me up on Kik @ 6Mir6Kat6 or Discord @ Panta#3783 !  
> Thanks to @r.k.shark_d98_zexal on Instagram for the art! It's so beautiful and cute and I hope to see more from you? Maybe? Pretty please?
> 
> Love you all, my darlings!  
> -Panta-chan


	13. Check and Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two stories are told, three if you count the symbolism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, this took forever! I have zero excuses. I wrote this entire chapter on the same night I'm posting it; not a word beforehand. I'm sorry.

_“I told you everything, opened up and let you in_  
_You made me feel alright for once in my life_  
_Now all that's left of me, is what I pretend to be_ _  
So together but so broken up inside.”_

* * *

8:31am 

“You want me to...tell you..everything?” Now dressed, with the new addition of Saihara’s jacket still sitting on his shoulders, Ouma clarified the detective’s request.

He nodded, “anything you’re comfortable sharing. If it would make it easier, you can refer to yourself as Ko, and Momota-kun as, um...Kai.”

Harukawa snorted. Ouma wondered why she was still there.

“Disassociation, huh?” The supreme leader felt some of his lost- _stolen_ confidence returning; he liked the suggestion. “Well, I can’t say no to my beloved Saihara-chan, now can I? If I remember correctly, it all started on our eighth night here...”

* * *

Killing Game Day 8 - 7:48pm 

“Nishishi~! Shiro-chan is pretty good at this!”

The cosplayer thought for a moment before pushing a pawn forward, effectively protecting her king from his expertly-placed bishop. “Well, even plain old me has a few hobbies, Ouma-kun.” Her content smile turned to a small frown as he moved a knight to the edge of the board, where it couldn’t safely be moved anywhere aside from back the way it came. He was setting up for something- a convoluted strategy, that was for sure- but _what?_ That knight was useless now!

Ouma giggled again, that awfully grating laugh she regretted giving him. “Shiro-chan is always saying how ‘plain’ she is, but you know…” He raised a finger to his lips, smirking devilishly. “I think there’s more to her than meets the eye.” Shirogane felt a chill, like his smirk alone had lowered the game room’s temperature.

“A-Ah, um…” _Maybe I shouldn’t have raised his intelligence so high. Or is this his paranoia speaking?_ “I’m just a cosplayer, not an evil supreme leader like Ouma-kun.” Hesitantly, she moved a rook closer to her king, its path towards Ouma now unobstructed by her pawns.

“I hate liars, Shiro-chan.” The boy in white used his other bishop to snatch up one of her knights, but it left itself open for capture. _Why would he sacrifice something as valuable as a bishop for a simple knight? What is his goal here? I just can’t see the bigger picture!_

Shirogane had always prided herself on being able to predict people; it was what got her the marketing job with Team Danganronpa in the first place. But here with Ouma, a character _she_ wrote, she had no idea what he was plotting, chess game or otherwise. Had he already figured her out? Would she be exposed after only one murder, making her the single worst Mastermind in Danganronpa history?

It was frightening, yet...strangely thrilling. _Despair-inducing,_ one could say.

“But it wasn’t-” Before she could finish her denial, the door flew open.

“Ouma!” Momota shouted, stomping into the room with a scowl. “I’ve been looking everywhere!” To the supreme leader’s credit, he didn’t look the least bit startled, though Shirogane assumed he had plastered on a smile as easily as she plastered on surprise. “You were supposed to meet me in my room tonight, remember?”

_Time to play the obsessive fangirl, Tsumugi!_

“A late night meeting?” The cosplayer gasped dramatically, forcing wide eyes and a shrill voice. “Is this like one of those mangas where the two rivals are actually in-”

The two boys responded in sync. _“No!”_

Shirogane pretended to shrivel under their combined glare, hyper aware that Ouma’s piercing eyes were analyzing her every move.

“Fiiiiiine, I’ll go with Momo-chan!” The supreme leader groaned, crossing his arms as he stood up from the table. “Sorry to cut our little game short, Shiro-chan, but you’re so bad it’s not even fun to beat you!”

Despite knowing it was a lie, Shirogane’s mouth twisted into a very real pout. Ouma laughed as he followed Momota out the door.

The Mastermind waited until she was sure they were gone to take hold of the chessboard and turn it around. She could see his plan crystal clear from this angle. Just one more move, and Ouma would’ve had her in check, with little chance of escape. The entire board had been set up against any move she could make, and she had been none the wiser the whole game.

Face splitting into a wicked grin, Shirogane took away the knight she had thought to be useless and replaced it with one of her own, watching the way Ouma’s chances of victory fell apart. Of _course_ the knight was the most important. Knights were rather unassuming pieces, often overlooked in favor of bishops or rooks, but were tricky in the way they moved.

A perfect fit for the neighing Horse King.

His entire strategy had hinged on the placement of that knight, so without it, she mated his king with ease. Picking up the regal piece, she began to laugh.

“Checkmate, Kokichi Ouma.”

* * *

“And that was when... _it_ happened to Ko?”

“That was the first time Kai raped him, yes.”

Saihara flinched from the bluntness of the statement. “Um, how many-”

“Seven.” The detective went silent, so Ouma continued. “The second time was right before lunch on the tenth day. Ko thought the incident was a one-time super special limited edition offer, so he wasn’t scared to open his door when someone knocked.”

“Was Ko wrong about the, um, offer?”

The supreme leader unconsciously pulled Saihara’s jacket tighter around him. “Yeah, he was. It was Kai who had knocked, waiting there with a bag of fun toys for them to play with!”

“T-Toys?”

“Uh-huh! Toys that go ‘buzz’ like bumblebees! A toy that goes ‘click’ and flashes and creates evidence to ruin Ko’s reputation.”

_I don’t want to think about the first one, but a “toy” that clicks and flashes? Does he mean...a camera?_

> >> **Truth Bullet Modified: Photographs**
> 
>   * Two compromising pictures of Kokichi Ouma appear to have been hastily stuffed into the victim’s sock. The images show him frightened and in tears following what was most likely sexual assault. ~~Is this blackmail of some kind? By whom?~~
>   * The pictures were taken by Momota[?] during and after the second assault, likely to keep Ouma silent about the matter.
> 


“I..I see. And the third time?”

“The third, fourth, and fifth times were on the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth days, respectively. Always between breakfast and lunch, never for less than an hour. I think Kai told his ‘sidekicks’ he would be taking a nap at that time?”

Saihara looked to Harukawa, and she begrudgingly nodded to confirm the information. “That’s what he always said, yeah.”

Ouma went on, “and _between_ those times, Kai made Ko do lots of messed up things! Suck his dick in the grass after Ko had just been strangled,” he sent Harukawa a pointed glance, to which she bristled, “say stuff about himself so he would feel like a worthless object- oh! This one was super fun for Ko: making out in the hallway in front of Saihara-chan, then getting beat up so he’d stay quiet about it! Kai really is a fun guy!” Ouma was grinning, but his voice cracked during the last part, indicating his true feelings on the matter.

Saihara’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again, but no sound came out. _So that’s what I saw in the hallway...he really_ was _trying to push Momota-kun away._ Surprisingly, it was Harukawa who spoke next.

“What kind of stuff did he make _you_ say?”

Ouma visibly winced at the pronoun usage, clearly only in his element when he could speak from outside of the situation. “I..um, Ko…” he bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows, evidently angry. If Saihara had to guess, he’d wager that anger was directed at the supreme leader himself.

 _Thanks a lot, Harukawa-san,_ Saihara thought dryly. _Now he’ll never answer that question._ He opened his mouth to change the topic, but Ouma beat him to the punch.

“I’m a good little whore.” It was said quickly, quietly, but the detective and the assassin both heard it.

 _Um…_ “What?”

The boy cleared his throat and clarified, “that’s what Ko had to say. ‘I’m a good little whore. Momota-kun’s whore. I won’t disobey or lie to Momota-kun.’” A single tear slipped onto Ouma’s cheek, and Saihara so badly wanted to wipe it away. “Then Mo- Kai made Ko stand in front of the mirror naked, so he could see all the bruises and marks Kai left on his body. And..and then…” he sniffled, raising one hand to instinctively cover his neck. “He made sure Ko wouldn’t forget who he belongs to.”

Saihara was honestly surprised by how much Ouma was willing to share with them, not to mention how emotional he was becoming. _Just how much did Momota-kun break you?_ He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

The detective reached out a hand, but paused when Ouma flinched away with a whispered “please no.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Ouma-kun.” Saihara cooed softly, “I just have one more question before we go back to investigating.”

Ouma looked over warily, analyzing the taller boy, and nodded.

“I saw earlier that your arms are all bandaged. What happened?”

* * *

Killing Game Day 11 - 8:07pm 

Shirogane was on the edge of her seat, eyes locked on the monitor like a teenager to their phone. She had gathered several dozen nanokumas in Ouma’s room, capturing the view from all angles.

For two hours now, the Ultimate Supreme Leader had been tearing apart his own skin, digging a knife into what little flesh was attached to his bones. For two hours, he'd been switching between bouts of screaming, crying, and laughing, sinking deeper into despair with every seamless transition. For two hours, he'd been drawing blood from his arms, each cut adding more scarlet to the puddle until his ghastly white skin was completely covered in it.

He was like a doll, a beautifully fragile porcelain doll that painted over its many cracks every time they formed.

But no amount of paint would prevent little divots from forming, sunken in places where something just wasn't right. And someday, somebody would come along and pick at those spots, and they wouldn't stop picking until the cracks became visible. The cracks would grow until the doll was nothing more than a mess of glass shards, stabbing into itself and drawing blood from anyone who tried to come near.

_Nice analogy, Tsumugi!_

_Thanks, Tsumugi! It_ was _rather lovely._

_Poetic, too! And of course, accurate._

Shirogane stared at her doll, her precious little plaything, and giggled.

* * *

“...I think you already know the answer to that, Saihara-chan.”

Saihara looked away. He didn't _want_ his suspicions to be correct, but it seemed they were. “Ouma-kun, I-”

_Ding dong ding!_

“What?” Harukawa hissed under her breath, her anger laced with confusion.

Ouma mumbled something, but Saihara couldn't make it out.

“A body has been discovered! All students please report to the Ultimate Artist’s Research Lab!”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the plus side, I got some fanart, my dudes!  
> Thanks a ton to Riauna3264 for this chapter's art! I love it!  
> Check out Chapters 8 and 11 eleven for some newly added images.  
> If you ever want to contact me, here are the two best ways:  
> Discord - Panta#3783  
> Kik - 6Mir6Kat6


	14. Stumble and Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to preface this chapter with an apology. I swore to myself I wouldn't put more than a month between updates, yet here we are. I'm so sorry, truly.  
> 2200 words today.

_“You, told me what to do and what to say._

_I couldn’t escape!_

_You, got to choose the ending of my fate._

_You put me astray!”_

* * *

 9:02am

 _Please...Please no. It can’t be her! It_ can’t _be!_

Ouma sprinted up the stairs to the fourth floor, taking them two at a time despite the burning protest in his short legs. The distance from his dorm to Angie’s lab seemed endless, extending as he ran like something out of a video game. Muscles already worn from abuse throbbed with every step, breath escaping in fast, fearful puffs. He didn’t run with his usual lithe agility; no, this was something raw, primal, born from instinct and sheer terror.

Clutching Saihara’s jacket with one hand to keep it from leaving his shoulders, he used the other to throw open the lab’s door, crying out _“Yumeno-chan!”_

And there she was, surrounded by three other students he didn’t care to recognize. Eyes swollen and red, clothing rumpled, small hands stained with blood. Shaking, crying, and so, so _alive._ He took three wobbling steps toward her, then collapsed to his knees from pure relief. So many emotions poured from his eyes in crystal rivers, too many for him to sort through while they held each other in an inseparable embrace.

Crying into Yumeno’s shoulder as she did his, Ouma was blind to his surroundings, unaware of the comments made by the others present. Everything he had, everything he thought he knew about himself, everything he did to protect his oh-so-fragile heart had been stripped away, torn to pieces to leave him exposed and far too vulnerable. “Yumeno-chan, Yumeno-chan, Yumeno-chan…” he repeated, sobbing into her shirt. “I was so worried…”

He had no idea how long they stayed that way, or who saw him in such a state, but by the time his vision cleared, Saihara was sending him a warm smile from where he knelt beside the body.

_The body…_

Angie Yonaga, the Ultimate Artist, was dead.

* * *

 9:00am

The moment the body’s location was announced, Ouma practically flew out of the room like his life depended on it. He was gone before Harukawa could even try to stop him, a fact Saihara found himself feeling relieved about. The two of them followed at a much more reasonable pace.

Noting the way Ouma had obviously panicked at the announcement, the detective brought a hand to his chin. “He’s being much more honest than usual…”

Blazing red eyes analyzed him. “You say that like it’s problematic.”

“It’s worrisome, Harukawa-san. Him sharing his experiences and displaying genuine emotion is strange. It’s like if you suddenly started acting peppy and cheerful instead of threatening people.”

Her gaze darkened. “Do you want to die?”

Saihara chuckled nervously and raised his hands placatingly. “You’re...kinda proving my point there. Regardless, his behavior lends credence to his story.”

“You seriously believe his lies? I thought Momota was your friend.”

 _Toujou-san was my friend too, but look where we are now._ “He is my friend! I want to believe in him, but I just can’t deny how incredibly plausible Ouma-kun’s story is. At the very least, we know what Ouma-kun claims has happened to him is true; it coincides with all my recent observations as well as his physical condition. That being said, I can’t be one hundred percent sure if Momota-kun is the one hurting him, but right now he’s the only suspect we have.”

Harukawa’s aggravated stance visibly deflated. “So it might not be him, then?”

Saihara nodded. “I need to investigate further before I can draw any definitive conclusions.” _It’s so obvious at this point; I don’t think it could possibly be someone else, but if this will make you more cooperative… I guess a kind lie wouldn’t hurt._

 _Ouma-kun would be proud,_ Saihara found himself thinking, and it gave him a burst of inexplicable happiness.

They approached the door to the Artist’s Lab, and Harukawa paused with her palm against the wood. “I’ll...keep an eye on the brat for you.” A momentary silence passed before she spoke again. “So I can prove Momota innocent. I know he wouldn’t do this.”

“Of course,” the detective gave her another nod and a thin smile. “Thank you, Harukawa-san.”

She gave no response, only pushing the door open with ease. They stepped through, and for what felt like the tenth time that day, Saihara struggled to process what he was seeing.

A frighteningly realistic figure of the Ultimate Pianist stared him down with empty eyes, her lifeless gaze boring into his soul. In her arms, cradled like an infant, was the equally lifeless head of Rantaro Amami. And at her feet? The cold, dead corpse of Angie Yonaga, with Yumeno and Ouma crying together beside her. Shinguuji was inspecting the wax figures with a morbid intrigue, Gokuhara was being comforted by a distressed Shirogane, Iruma and Kiibo seemed more interested in Ouma than anything else, and Momota was waiting by the door, presumably for the two of them to arrive. By the time Saihara had properly digested the scene, Harukawa was kneeling beside the body with her Monopad out.

“Yo, Shuichi! Harumaki! What took you guys so long?” Momota questioned with a pure, genuine smile. “Kokichi’s acting pretty weird…” He trailed off, eyes lingering on the sobbing supreme leader. His smile never faltered.

More or less ignoring the last comment, Saihara sheepishly averted his gaze. “Sorry, we were...um, discussing Chabashira-san’s case.”

“T- Chabashira’s? Didn’t we agree Kokichi killed her?”

 _What is it with you and first names, Momota-kun?_ “I’m beginning to think there’s more to her murder than meets the eye. Some things just aren’t adding up… For example, Ouma-kun isn’t stupid. The thought that he would even commit murder in his _own room,_ let alone leave the body there and hide away, doesn’t make sense. It’s too...obvious.”

“You sure you’re not just overestimating him? I mean, look at him and Yumeno. He just suddenly burst in here and started bawling; seems hella guilty to me.”

“I...don’t think that’s why he’s acting this way.”

The astronaut’s lips formed a thin, irritated line, his suddenly cold tone of voice startling the detective a bit. “Is that so?”

“W-Well, he and Yumeno-san seemed pretty close lately, so maybe he’s just relieved that she’s safe?”

“Hah!” Iruma interrupted, tossing waves of hair over her shoulder. “Since when does the shota care about anyone except himself? He and the loli over here are probably fuck buddies! Well, he’s got Shyhara’s shirt on, so maybe it’s them! Either way, Twinkma’s takin’ something up the a-”

“If you don’t shut your mouth,” Harukawa glared, “I’ll do it for you. _Permanently.”_

“Heeee! I-I was just tryin’ to-”

“Saihara, if you’re done wasting time, come over here. You’ve got a murder to investigate.”

The detective flinched but otherwise complied, kneeling down beside Yonaga’s corpse. He caught Ouma’s violet gaze and couldn’t help but give him a reassuring smile, watching as the boy’s vision seemed to clear. The leader rested his head on the magician’s shoulder, but Saihara had a feeling he was listening to their investigation. He returned his attention to Harukawa. “What does the Monokuma File say?”

Skimming over the information, she only read out the important details rather than the entire report like she had with Chabashira’s. “Angie Yonaga, found in her lab just before 9:00am. Cause of death is a stab wound to the back of the neck; she also suffered from blunt force trauma to the forehead. Time of death is...unknown.”

> >> **Truth Bullet Added: Monokuma File #4**
> 
>   * For some odd reason, the time of death is not specified in the file.
> 


“Unknown?” Saihara parroted quizzically.

Ouma sniffled, cleared his throat, and, in a small voice, stated “the time of death must be important to the case.”

“That makes sense,” the detective conceded, “but why-”

“I have a theory,” Ouma continued, and though it stirred a pang of annoyance in Saihara’s gut, he couldn’t help but feel relieved that the supreme leader was acting somewhat normal. “To test it, though...I need to…” He stood, seeming uncomfortable, debating something with himself. “I, um, I’m sorry, I suppose.”

“What-” Before Saihara even got a chance to ask, the small boy had cupped both hands around his mouth, calling out loudly enough to draw the whole room’s attention.

“Heeeyyyyy, Monokuma! I have a question!” Despite the other students’ protests, the bear appeared on cue, and the detective was astonished by just how quickly, even after everything he’d been through, Ouma could put on his ‘Supreme Leader’ persona.

_Is it because Momota-kun is here?_

“What is it, brat? I’ve got a trial to prepare for!”

“Nishishi, this is important! How can the Killing Game be fun-” Saihara shuddered at the lilt in the boy’s voice- “if you don’t make the rules specific enough?”

“As much as I love the enthusiasm, get to the point!”

“What are we supposed to do in the event of a double murder? Assuming the culprits are different players, are we searching for both, or just one? If so, which one?”

Saihara’s breath caught in his throat. _I didn’t even consider what we were looking for…_

Monokuma seemed to ponder the query for a moment before responding. “That’s quite simple; Blackened status is awarded on a first come, first serve basis. Priority goes to those who take initiative!” With that, he disappeared, and the detective watched Ouma return to his exhausted, battered state.

“Fuck…” the boy mumbled under his breath.

Kiibo spoke for the first time since Saihara had arrived, “so we should be focusing on Chabashira-san’s death, correct?” The others expressed their agreement, but Saihara wasn’t convinced, and he could tell Ouma wasn’t either.

“No,” the supreme leader replied shortly, “we should investigate both deaths. We _found_ Chabashira-chan first, but that doesn’t mean her murder _occurred_ first.” He spared Momota a glance and mumbled something the detective couldn’t quite catch. “Until Saihara-chan determines a time of death for Angie-chan, we can’t be too sure what we’re trying to find.”

> >> **Truth Bullet Added: Double Murder Rules**
> 
>   * According to Monokuma, the trial will serve to search for the Blackened who struck first. At the current moment, it is uncertain which victim was killed first, as the Monokuma File does not provide the second victim’s time of death.
> 


The room fell into a pensive silence, several students simply struck by the mere _idea_ of Ouma being helpful. Unsurprisingly, Momota was the one to break it.

“You…” he growled, fists clenched, Ouma’s shoulders visibly tensing as he turned to face the astronaut. “What the hell is wrong with you, acting so chummy with Monokuma?!”

“I-I..” the supreme leader threw his crumbling mask up in the blink of an eye, stomping his foot and pouting childishly. “I just got some valuable information! Momo-chan should appreciate me more!”

“My fist will appreciate your face!” Momota lunged forward and swung, Ouma immediately dropping the act and bracing himself. Saihara duly noted that he made no move to defend himself, ready to take Momota’s attacks. _Ready...like he deserves them._

This time though, he didn’t have to, because in a blur of red, Harukawa caught the astronaut’s fist in her own. Through clenched teeth, she hissed, “you _idiot.”_

Momota narrowed his eyes, wrenched his hand from her iron grip, and stormed out of the room. He sent a final glance at Ouma, but the boy didn’t appear to notice, too busy staring up at the Ultimate Assassin with something like awe. “You...you protected me.” He said, voice a disbelieving whisper. Then, more confidently, “you protected me from Momota-chan.”

“Just trying to keep him from doing something he regrets; don’t go thinking I’d actually give a shit if you got hurt.”

“Mkay, Harumaki-chan!” He swiftly wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling her shoulder affectionately, then darted away before she could even register the blush rising in her cheeks. Saihara felt laughter bubble in his throat, and released it without a care.

_Leave it to Ouma-kun to lighten up the darkest situations._

* * *

 9:43am

“How long have you been aware of Ouma-kun’s situation?”

“Only since yesterday afternoon. Tenko told me. I dunno how long she knew about it for.”

“Alright. So, earlier this morning you told me that Ouma-kun and Chabashira-san shared a room for the night, but neither were there when you awoke. Can you elaborate on that?”

“That’s a pain...but okay, I’ll tell you. I think Ouma didn’t wanna sleep in his room, so Tenko said they could share so he would be safe. I went to see them in the morning, but nobody answered at Tenko’s door, so I went to Ouma’s room instead.”

“What made you think they’d be there if it wasn’t safe?”

“Nyeh...I don’t remember.”

“. . . Alright. What happened next?”

“They didn’t answer there either, but my magic could sense Tenko was inside the room. That’s when you came out.”

“Okay, and what about while I was investigating? Where did you go then?”

“I…I went to Momota’s room, a-and…”

“And?”

“I found Ouma there.”

.

.

.

> >> **Truth Bullet Modified: Yumeno’s Account**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, Comments, Bookmarks, Subscriptions, it's all appreciated! Thank you all so much for giving Defense Mechanisms the 15th most hits, 13th most kudos, and 8th most comments in all 4000 fics in the NDRV3 tag! That's crazy!  
> Big thanks to @r.k.shark_d98_zexal on Instagram as well as the anon artist from chapter five for two more beautiful pieces of art! I love you both!  
> Fanart? Suggestions? Theories? Wanna say hi? Hit me up!  
> Discord: Panta#3783  
> Kik: 6Mir6Kat6


	15. Open and Shut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma falls apart at the hands of his own conflicting morals, and Saihara struggles to put him back together without causing further damage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A chapter that's actually kind of on time?

_“You, don’t know what it’s like to drown away,_

_In a puddle of shame._

_You, yes you,_

_Made me insane!”_

* * *

9:27am 

_I hugged Harumaki-chan. She hated it._

Left, then right, then left again, and right again; Ouma walked away from the Artist’s Lab.

_Of course she did; what else did you expect? Nobody wants to touch a used condom, and you’re practically the same thing._

He pulled Saihara’s jacket tighter around his shoulders, a poor replacement for the cape he no longer deserved to wear.

_Fair point, me. Good job._

Ouma giggled out loud at his mental conversation. He glanced over his shoulder; no Momota. Only Harumaki-chan, stalking him like usual.

_How far have you fallen, Kokichi, to laugh at how you’ve been ruined? You’re literally talking to yourself._

_Not far enough to kill me! What a shame._

Left, right, left, right; another glance. No Momota, and no Harumaki-chan.

_You should kill him instead of yourself._

Ouma stopped walking.

_Kill...Momota-kun?_

Could he really do that? He’d be executed, sure, but there was no point in acting like that mattered. Nobody here would miss him, and his ten thousand followers wouldn’t, either! Better yet, he could manipulate someone _else_ into killing Momota. Then he’d fill his classmates’ hearts with hatred, just like he ~~deserved~~ wanted.

Why did he want that again?

 _Ah, who cares!_ Their hatred might be able to trump his cowardice and cause his inevitable suicide! Peace at last, in the fires of a hell worse than this one! And he wouldn’t have to deal with Momota in hell. Causing the deaths of himself, Momota, and an innocent classmate; a plan truly befitting the Ultimate Supreme Leader! All hail Kokichi Ouma! All hail DICE!

 _“And our most important rule..._ **_never kill_ ** _.”_

Ouma kept walking, approaching the three doors lining one section of the hall. He wondered what was behind them, not having exploring this area yet.

 _What do some petty morals even matter anyway?_ The supreme leader’s fingers traced the outline of the thin knife in his pocket, the one he always carried but never used.

 _“_ **_Never kill._ ** _”_

 _No! DICE’s policies don’t matter!_ Momota pinned him down, ravaged his body, stole his _goddamn virginity-_ the astronaut would _pay_ for making him think he deserved to die.

_Is that even a bad thing?_

_Nobody asked you! I’m_ stabbing _this asshole, and I’m gonna like it._

Just as the small leader passed the middle doorway, a hand grabbed his wrist; a large, calloused, terrifyingly familiar hand.

Quick footsteps approached, but before Harukawa could reach him, Ouma had been pulled out of sight, the door locking behind him. Her fists pounded against the wood, echoing the thudding of the supreme leader’s heart as he stared into the eyes of a fuming Momota. Soft candlelight cast hellish shadows over the man’s face. Ouma gripped the blade in his pocket, already feeling his resolve slip like sand through his fingers.

Momota shoved him against the wall, slamming one hand beside the boy’s head. He winced at the noise, cowering beneath the astronaut’s fierce glower.

“You little _shit.”_

* * *

9:46am 

“He was- his hands were tied, and it looked like Momota had just..um…w-what has Ouma told you?”

“He told me everything up through the night following Hoshi’s trial, I believe.”

“Okay, so you know...yeah. They had just finished. He was so afraid, Saihara. He thought I was Momota, c-coming back to hurt him again. I just can’t...it’s so scary to see him that way!” Yumeno raised an arm to wipe her eyes, sniffling softly. “We’ve been so mean to him…”

_He wanted help, didn’t he?_

_“Momota-chan left it there when he raped me!”_

_But he knew none of us would believe him. How alone he must’ve felt… I can’t even begin to imagine._

Saihara opened his mouth to respond- to _agree-_ when Yumeno continued. “That’s when he decided to tell you.”

“I- huh?”

“He looked so determined to finally admit it to you, like he wasn’t struggling to even sit up on Momota’s bed. He was confident he could prove it, but...whenever he sees Momota, he falls apart. He’s too afraid to go against him.

“You have to help him, Saihara! You-You gotta! He can’t do it by hims-“

The classroom door slammed open, and there stood Harukawa, displaying more panic than any emotion the detective had seen on her prior. He and Yumeno immediately stood, expressions laced with concern.

“There you are! Saihara, you have to come with me! _Now.”_

 _There was no announcement, so it can’t be a body… hold on, shouldn’t she be with-_ amber eyes grew wide. “Ouma-kun,” he breathed, receiving a nod of affirmation from the assassin.

Without a second of hesitation, the trio sprinted towards the stairs with one thought echoing in all of their minds.

_I have to save him!_

* * *

9:54am 

“-I tried to reach him, but it was too late. I can only assume it was Momota who pulled him away like that.” Harukawa’s voice was somber as she finished her explanation, the three of them not halting for a second when they reached the fourth floor. Yumeno’s breathing was heavy, Saihara could feel sweat beading on his brow, and even Harukawa was a bit winded, but none were willing to slow their pace in the slightest. They turned down the hall, ready to break down a goddamn door, but that turned out to be unnecessary.

“Please..s-stop…” Ouma lay sprawled on the ground, shirtless, tears trickling over his bruised cheeks.

“God, will you just shut up and stay still already?” Momota knelt with his knee in the center of the supreme leader’s back, one hand pressing the boy’s head into the hardwood floor. The other held a pocketknife against Ouma’s shoulder blade, digging it into the flesh as though carving some sort of symbol. “You pulled a fucking knife on me, you little _whore._ ” His victim sobbed at the term. “Do you expect me _not_ to punish you? Haven’t you learned _anything?”_

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please d-” he yelped as the blade dug particularly deep.

“I told you to shut _up,_ Kokichi.” The astronaut gripped Ouma’s hair, wrenching his head back painfully. The resulting whine made him grin maniacally, an expression that caused Saihara to take a step back and snapped Yumeno out of the trance the scene had put her in.

“Ouma!” She cried, drawing the attention of both victim and attacker.

Momota seemed unfazed by the presence of witnesses, smirking smugly at the way the small leader tensed. “Oh that’s just _precious,_ Kokichi. You’re afraid of how _helpless_ and _pathetic_ you look in front of them, aren’t you? Especially your _‘beloved Saihara.’”_

Ouma didn’t respond, closing his eyes tight as tears poured and his body began to tremble. Momota _laughed._

In a split second he was unconscious on the ground, the Ultimate Assassin standing over him with a fiery crimson glare. “Momota..you... _you idiot!”_ Saihara spared her a sympathetic glance as he approached the scene, kneeling beside Ouma.

“Ouma-kun?” He spoke softly, trying his hardest not to frighten the beaten leader. Slowly, those beautiful violet eyes opened, glistening with tears as they met Saihara’s. “It’s okay now. We won’t let him touch you, I promise.”

Ouma pushed himself up on shaking arms, whimpering at how the motion agitated his wound, blood gushing from the cuts. “Doesn’t matter now…” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “He already ruined me, took everything I had..marked me…”

Yumeno, who had hesitantly stepped up beside Saihara, gestured to the bloody mess on Ouma’s back. “Is that…”

“His initials?” The boy finished for her, giving a poor imitation of his typical cheerful grin. “Yeah, yeah it is. I was an idiot,” he wiped his eyes, wincing when his hand brushed against the blue-purple bruises beneath them, “thinking I could take him in a fight in this state.”

Saihara’s brow furrowed, “you...started a fight with him?” Ouma was silent, blank-faced, for several long moments.

“Yeah, I did. And look where it got me.” He laughed, but it was hopeless and empty.

“Ouma-kun-”

“Shush, Saihara-chan.”

“But-”

Ouma’s gaze hardened into solid amethyst. _“I don’t want your pity,”_ he spat.

The detective only nodded, switching his attention to the others in the hall. “Harukawa-san, what do you think we should do with Momota-kun?”

While waiting for her answer, he pretended not to notice Ouma shifting to practically snuggle up against him.

* * *

??? 

“What seems to be the problem?” Shirogane spoke into the cellphone, twirling a Monokuma keyring around her finger. A smirk twisted her lips. “Yes, I saw them fight. And what came afterwards. I just don’t see what the issue is here.”

The response made her smile turn to a frown.

“You can’t end it now; not when it’s getting good!”

She caught the keyring in her palm, rolling the charm between her thumb and forefinger. “Uh-huh, yes, I know. Wait, they want to _what?!_ They can’t change the sur-!”

The mastermind was silent for a fair amount of time, listening carefully.

“I...with all due respect, sir, the damage cannot be undone.”

She sighed.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

10:25am 

“There. That should do it.”

Ouma rolled his shoulder, admiring how well Saihara had patched him up with just the limited supplies from the warehouse. He grinned, “Nurse Saihara-chan is amazing!”

The detective flushed, sheepishly reaching for a hat that was no longer there. “Ah, I- um- I-I’m glad you’re feeling better, Ouma-kun.” His blush only deepened as the supreme leader stood up and clung to his arm, nuzzling his shoulder affectionately. “D-Does anything hurt?”

“Everything hurts, Saihara-chan.”

“Oh, r-right...um, I think there were some painkillers around here.” Golden eyes immediately began scanning the shelves surrounding them, searching for the aforementioned product. “Ah!” He reached up to a shelf that was far out of Ouma’s reach, much to the smaller boy’s chagrin, grabbing a bottle of generic acetaminophen tablets. “They’re probably not very strong, but it should be better than nothing.”

Ouma allowed a genuinely grateful smile to grace his features. “Saihara-chan is too nice for his own good.”

“I’m taking that as your special way of complimenting me,” the detective teased, receiving a giggle in return. He smiled warmly, reading the side of the bottle before twisting the lid off. “Looks like you’re only supposed to take one...how strange.”

“Don’t be so paranoid!”

 _Hypocrite,_ Saihara thought to himself, handing a single pill to his companion. “You’re hilarious,” his voice was laced with sarcasm as he spoke. “Now take it.”

Ouma froze completely, eyebrows shooting upwards as he stared at Saihara in what appeared to be horror.

“Ouma-kun?” Saihara reached towards the boy out of concern, withdrawing immediately when the leader cowered in fear. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

 _Take it...take it...take it, Kokichi…_ Ouma dropped the pill and clutched his head, feeling his breath speed up. It was an innocent phrase on the surface, but Momota...Momota had said that almost every time he…

“I...I...I c-can’t…”

“Huh?” The detective tilted his head in confusion. “You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“It..It’s not that...I-I just…” Ouma tried desperately to steady his breathing, not wanting to hyperventilate after Saihara had worked so hard to calm him down. But that phrase… “Please, just don’t...don’t s-say that…”

“Don’t say…” Saihara replayed his words in his head, eyes lighting up in realization. “I’m sorry, Ouma-kun. I’ll try to remember that.”

The supreme leader just nodded, accepting another tablet without hesitation and swallowing it dry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to submit art, theorize, make suggestions, or just talk? Hit me up on the socials!  
> Discord: Panta#3783  
> Kik: 6Mir6Kat6  
> Instagram: ao3panta  
> Big thanks to @r.k.shark_d98_zexal on Instagram for another gorgeous fanart! Your work never disappoints!


End file.
